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Of music, muddles and man-hood

What a week that was!

What a week this one is going to be!

And for one little friend ... twelve days is all that's left.


Last week was a week filled with music:

Littlest practised her socks off (quite literally - they're still under the piano) and took her first ever music exam. The teacher with the pink socks (Blog entry: Men-should-wear-pink-socks) has clearly instilled in her a laid back, carefree attitude to exams. Which is great: long may it last! -

When asked how the exam went, she replied, big eyed, "I just sat back and relaxed and let my fingers do all the work. I didn't know what my hands were doing! My fingers were crawling up and down the piano like a spider. They were out of control! Good out of control ... I think. Thank you hands." Wow!

Fingers crossed that the spiders knew what they were doing.

She enjoyed her grade one piano exam so much, that she is now starting to work for grade one cello. How will the spiders cope with strings?

Fiddly, tickling, I-don't-want-to-be-stuck-in-the-car-for-one-more-minute fingers travelled to London, on Friday, for the final of the UK universities a cappella competition. They waved at everyone they knew, slapped themselves together in applause, held big brother's hand, and stuffed chocolate and I'm-never-normally-allowed-this-fizzy-drink-because-it-makes-me-wild into Littlest's mouth. But the thrilling music and wild choreography were neither loud enough or sufficiently frenetic to keep Littlest awake -




The muddles of the title are technology induced. I have a suspicion that most adults (or maybe, most adults of a certain age and similar procrastinating disposition) exhibit the same technological inadequacies as I do - I am extremely good, accomplished even, in the art of persuasion: specifically, when it is precipitated by worry over whether an essay has been saved; are the music tour photographs on the camera and nowhere else; what about the work experience project, and the hours and hours of computer design.

There's a theme developing here - it's called being a mother and worrying: not so much about the loss of data (which would be a terrible blow), but more a concern for the anguished fall-out - the head in hands despair, the tears and recriminations. I never want to say "I told you so," so instead I nag. And nag. And purchase memory devices. And hand the memory devices to my children. I don't  do the next step and check that the memory devices have been taken out of their packets (Is that even possible? When did you last try to take a memory stick, or a tooth brush for that matter, out of its sealed plastic packaging? Impossible without industrial strength scissors and leather gardening gloves - the thornproof kind, to prevent lacerations from the sharp plastic edges as the pack finally gives up its contents.)

But ... where is this leading? Oh yes! I am a mother. Therefore, I am a worrier. However, I consistently fail to practice what I preach. Every day, for a fleeting moment, as I pack my laptop (it's small) into my handbag (it's large), I think "It would be so much easier, and kinder on my shoulder, if all I had to carry was a memory stick." Do I ever get round to saving my stories, poems, blogs etc? Not yet. Maybe tomorrow ...? Which is why, when my phone died last weekend and I had to rush away from lunch, missing pudding (Pudding!!!) and the phone shop was unable to transfer my phone book from deceased phone to new off-course-slightly-larger-so-fits-neither--protective-casing-nor-pouch device, I groaned. And thought of the times when I'd considered making a copy of my phone book. And hadn't. And wondered if I even knew what numbers I had lost. 

So I lost my numbers. But faced with a party to attend in the big city; dinner for friends and a one night holiday away from the washing, I haven't had time to worry about it (or to back up my laptop ... yet!) and have muddled through. Friends have helped; they are pretty understanding creatures -  responding well to  "Haven't a clue who you are" texts.

There are however more significant losses on the horizon:

Bertie Baggins, who will do the losing, is utterly oblivious to the planned loss. He will remain oblivious all the way to the vets. Oblivious, as he sleeps through the losing bit. And will only become aware that he has lost something, when he wakes with a pain between his back legs and a bucket round his neck. 

Littlest on the subject of Bertie's fast approaching loss, "It's lucky you just do that to your dogs!"



Comments

  1. HerbieCax25 March 2013 at 19:27

    Spiders knew exactly what they were doing - fingers danced their way to a "thumping" distinction. Well done, Littlest.

    ReplyDelete

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