Back to the grind

2017 has not been spectacular so far.  My lovely neighbour’s mother has been diagnosed with cancer. Stomach cancer.  The one my mom had thirty years ago.  That damn monster can’t be tamed, it seems. It disturbed me all morning – I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but the lady (the neigbour’s mom) had just had an angioplasty, a few weeks back.  Chemo right after?  She isn’t very strong either.  I want to be of help to my neighbour, but I don’t know how.  We are separated by age, and so, she treats me with more respect (one of those that calls me V’s mom and not by my name) than I like, so it is not likely that she would take my shoulder to rest her weary head.  Keeping fingers crossed.

My grandma’s first anniversary ceremonies fall in Feb it seems – although she died in Jan last year, Hindu ceremonies follow the lunar calendar. Once that is over, a whole lot of decisions must be made, and I am not quite looking forward to them.

Dang. It’s only the second day of the year, why am I complaining so much already?  Let’s go on to something more cheerful.

My newly turned 13-year old’s  Monday uniform to school is a pair of white pants and white kurtha (longish Indian shirt). I have a dress of a pink kurtha and white pant. Yesterday, in my hurry to go out somewhere, I wore her pant instead of mine without realising it.  We realised it only this morning as she frantically searched for her pant to wear to school,  I don’t know why, but the fact that our clothes have started fitting each other is overwhelming for me. This seems to be a bigger milestone than her birthday was!

I made pizza for supper today, but for some reason, the dough smelled alcoholic  when I rolled out the base – I suppose I let the dough ferment longer than usual, or the yeast I had used was particularly virile.  What’s more, since dinner, I have been feeling a little, I don’t know, not quite tipsy, psychedelic…yeah, I’ll go with psychedelic.  Perhaps it is psychosomatic, or perhaps the dough was part alcohol.  I ain’t complaining either way.

Deadline season at work.  Yay.

 

 

Advertisements

8 thoughts on “Back to the grind

  1. Maha

    Sorry to hear about your neighbor’s mom. I have a feeling with time, you will figure a way out to support her.
    One of my friends too said she exchanges clothes with her daughter. May be once the initial shock id over, you will be excited about it?

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. gobblefunkist Post author

      I have the fashion sense of an amoeba. So, I doubt if she would want any of mine ! I might steal hers if I succumb to midlife crisis and want to look like a age-crazed oldie in a teenager’s pant.

      Like

      Reply
  2. Ana Karin

    You will find the way to provide support.

    I can’t believe you are trading clothes with V! I’m horrified by the prospect of trading clothes with my kid, but I have to admit that I am not sure why….

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. gobblefunkist Post author

      I don’t know why it hit me big time as well. The realisation that my baby is not my “baby” anymore. It is said that when a boy grows into his father’s shoe size, he is an adult. Could this be the girl version of it?

      Like

      Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s