In the movie "The Third Man", a character observes that thirty years of turmoil in Italy under the Borgias produced Michelangelo, Leonardo DaVinci, and the Renaissance, while five hundred years of peace in Switzerland produced the cuckoo clock.
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I went to the Central NJ Mensa regional gathering this past weekend. It was pretty much as expected. Nothing great, nothing to complain about. A fairly large contingent of the local group went. Without naming names, here we all are:
That's me in the middle, in yellow. Silk in context.
The gathering was over at noon on Sunday, and everyone else went home, but I stayed over another night. The Man joined me Saturday evening, through noon today. He and I had met at this gathering in 2007, so this was effectively our third anniversary, but there was no way he was going to attend the gathering. He dislikes Mensans in general (even though we're both members), and especially dislikes gatherings. Mensans in general are rather lacking in social graces, and many actions thoroughly disgust him. Sunday evening he mentioned how at a gathering in Maryland he and I had attended together (and the last he agreed to go to), I almost got run over by the stampede of 400-lb slobs when the chocolate orgy started.
It so happened that there were a few incidents that would have thoroughly disgusted him, so It's just as well he stayed away.
We hadn't seen each other in a long time. Stuff going on that made it difficult.
Yeah, I'm in love again.
Funny how when you haven't seen someone in ages you see things you hadn't seen before.
He's big and strong. His appearance can be rather threatening. He's had some serious adversity and emotional pain in his life, and has come through it with only a little baggage. I see him as very strong, very powerful, very much in control of everything.
Last night and this morning I've modified that a bit. Yes, he's mentally and physically strong and mature. But not emotionally so. In a lot of ways he's got a lot of little boy in there. Well, all men do in one way or another, but his little boy lives in a different place than most men's. I think he may be quite fragile in some ways. Very emotionally protective. I'll have to keep that in mind.
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I had taken Jasper to Pussyfoot Lodge, hoping that this short stay would get him ready for a longer stay in April, when I go to Morocco. That didn't work out at all. He didn't eat, drink, or piddle the whole time, and he completely freaked out in the carrier coming home. It was so bad that he had long thick streams of drool, and at one point I thought he'd had a stroke.
I guess I'm going to have to leave him home and have someone come in to feed him while I'm gone. That means I've got a hair over two weeks to whip the house into company-shape. It's some indication of how bad it is that I'm not sure I can do it.
(Two weeks, because the week before I leave for Morocco, I'll be going with The Man on a multi-day trip to Virginia, home for three days, then off to north Africa. So everything has to be done before Virginia.)
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2 comments:
I can take care of kitty!
I've had professional pet sitters come in when I lived in Casa Melancholia and there were paths through everything. No one ever said a word.
I myself had a thing for sinks and the most you would find when I got home would be a shiny sink. Just because I like shiny sinks.
I say, Sister, hurrah!
(My verification word is buncedra. Is that when you have lots and lots of bunnies hanging around?)
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