Random Saturday ( and a very Happy Halloween 👻🎃)
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The Greek Way To Success
I think I already mentioned in a previous post that I HATE INSTRUCTIONS. They are boring; I can’t focus on them, and most of all, I don’t have the patience to read them.
If I am dealing with something with buttons, I press them all until I find the one that switches on or off what I need.
You can rightfully argue that it’s a time-consuming practice, and I should instead spare a minute to read which button does what. Easier said than done, but I can compromise, and so over time I gave in to graphic instructions; but that is it!
That is also the reason I am the DIY person in the house. And the fact that the travelling husband hates DIY as much as I hate reading instructions. A pity really, because being as precise as he is, he is actually very good and very slow, with a tendency to mansplain every step of the process. -Thank you darling, but I do not really need to know how the bathroom mirror was fitted on the wall; I want it up!-A bit more speed and a bit less precision, pretty please!
Ok, I admit sometimes I might side more with speed than precision; that’s probably the reason why I, on rare occasions, am left with spare pieces when I am not supposed to. Still, no furniture I assembled had ever collapsed, though. True, daughter number two’s desk got closed once, and daughter number one ‘s is a bit wobbly, but they have been moved around a lot; it must be that.
Anyway, confident in my fitting skills, I bought this lovely lamp. Lovely and quite “articulated” in its appearance, that should have told me it was probably quite complicated to assemble too. But don’t they always say not to judge a book by the cover, or that appearances are indeed misleading?
I normally pick up books attracted by the cover before reading the blurb and never regret it, though I did regret not having read the instructions before buying the lamp. Oh right, I do not read instructions; Good thing there were none, but only explanatory illustrations. Except they were completely useless.
After forty minutes, I was still trying to understand the picture on page two. Page one simply listed the number of pieces included.
I needed help, and there was only one place where to find it: YouTube.
I am not a regular YouTube watcher, but when I need to fix or make something, that’s where I go, and it has never let me down. Actually, it is quite amazing to see the stupid things people make tutorials about, but hey, who am I to judge someone in need of a tutorial about how to correctly apply a plaster to a paper cut?!
Unfortunately, there is a first time for everything, and after scrolling for a solid ten minutes, I realised there were no tutorials; only videos showing the final product. -Well, thank you very much!!! But I know what the bloody thing looks like and how pretty it is; that’s why I bought it. What I do not know is how to make it from a chunk of random pieces apparently not belonging together.-
Another twenty minutes of desperate scrolling later, I finally found it. A detailed step-by-step tutorial. There was only one little insignificant issue: it was in Greek, captions included.
You are not gonna believe it if I tell you that, nonetheless, the Greek tutorial was still clearer than those useless instructions, which figures were probably taken from those psychology manuals to identify sociopathic minds. And trust me, if I were still trying to figure it out through that, sure thing I would have started to show all the classic signs. Instead, I followed the Greek way, and in just fifteen minutes I had my new lampshade assembled and hanging, thanks to that little Greek man who fell in love with the same lamp I did and shared it with the world.
Have lovly rest of the week you all,
Love,
Ortensia
The Wedding
No, not mine but, I finally got invited to an Irish wedding. And please do not pay attention to the malevolent rumours, spread by my same better half, that I actually coerced our way to the wedding. What I did was simply and casually, but quite warmly, express my long-term desire to wear a ceremonial hat to the groom. I suppose the fact that the travelling husband is the one deciding his bonus every year did the rest. A girl gotta do what a girl gotta do, right?!
Anyway, enough of unimportant details and let’s go back to the real purpose of my machinations. The Hat.
Did I wear it in the end? No. When I finally got my hand on the one perfectly matching my dress, in fact, and slipped my head into it, it was simply too much, but a fascinator looked too little. Disappointed, I asked the Alphabet Ladies ( and this reminds me that I need to write a post about them sooner or later), and they suggested a hatinator.
I must confess my total ignorance here. What in hell is a hatinator? It certainly doesn’t sound like anything I would like to put on my head and show myself in public with. It sounds painful too. It turned out it’s a simple miniature hat, and I have plenty at home from the Halloween costumes or the Megacoms. Surely not suitable for a wedding, but at least now we know what they are properly called. In the end, the hatinator was not the solution either. Not that I haven’t tried hard. I went around for a month to find the perfect shape in the perfect colour, but perfection is not of this world!
Then when I was nearly giving up, the perfect hair accessory came to me. I was browsing around the various vintage shops in town, and there it was: a mid-twenties hair clip of diamonds and pearls. The perfect match for my shoe brooches, my handbag, and the perfect accessory to make my short bob very, very Mrs Fisher.
Back to the clip, I absolutely loved it; it was simply ME. That kind of love and the many compliments I got for it also gave me the strength to wear it for nearly 12 hours straight. Yes, because the bloody thing wasn’t just big; it was as heavy as a bag of potatoes. I had to take numerous bathroom breaks just to remove it for a few minutes. If anyone paid attention to my back-and-forth to the toilet, they might have thought my middle-aged woman bladder was really behaving at its worst. It was worth it, though, and as my mother used to tell me while mercilessly brushing the knots in my hair: “Se bella vuoi appraise, un pochino devi soffrire” ( if you want to be beautiful, you must suffer a little); that is also most likely the reason why I had long hair only for a brief, and very painful, time in my life.
Well, I suppose now you want to hear about the wedding too. The groom and bride were so sweet and beyond happy, and the place was magnificent, and I finally got to spend a night in a country house where every room has an old-fashioned big key, canopy beds and supposedly a ghost. Ours must have been scared away by the travelling husband’s heavy snoring. It was indeed a very nice wedding, and it could have been great if only they hadn’t let us starve for four hours between the end of the ceremony and dinner. Also, the DJ couldn’t have been helped. It was not as bad as the one in Love Actually, but dangerously close.
Then there was a curious recurrence. Every time I went to the bathroom, and we know I went quite a lot, the bridesmaids were gossiping in front of the mirror, and the bride participating from inside a cubicle. I could spot her dress coming out from under the cubicle door like a huge white blob.
She was going to the bathroom a lot too.
I had three guesses: one, her bladder is far older than it goes by; two, the leek soup was already acting on her tummy ( that’s another thing; whoever did the menu didnt think about the unpleasantness of the side effect of leek, especially on your first night as groom and bride); three, she needed a break from her dress too. If my hair clip was heavy, her dress was far heavier. I know because I stepped on it a few times, and she wouldn’t even notice; instead, she dragged me along. It was like being on a flying rug. Thankfully, after the first dance, when the real disco music kicked in, she had a backup dress.
And yes, you heard me: disco music. Now feel free to picture the travelling husband losing himself on the dance floor… or not.
Countryside Snooping
Since I gave up my IG account, even though I don’t miss the whole social media thing, I do miss having a place to share pictures, especially this time of year. I adore Autumn🍂.
I now solely share photographs with my bestie but, without meaning any disrespect towards my platonic lesbian lover, (as daughter number two calls her based on the ridiculous amount of communication we have), it is not the same. Also, as the mother of a talented and successful young singer, her life in pictures is usually far more interesting and varied than mine.
That said, today I am sharing with you snippets of my daily morning walk and, just to show off a little, our fall-ready front door( pumpkins are on the way).
Also, this unusual post , comes particularly convenient this week, because while you’ll be losing yourself in the beauty of the Irish countryside, I’ll have just the time to slip out of my best celebration mode ( details about that next week) and jumping straight into my choir one.
P.s
The idea was actually to just post pics but obviously, my tendency to blab had prevailed 😂
Random Wednesday
The Choir
I think I have mentioned that I finally joined the village women’s choir. And no, I’m not a particularly talented singer, and my sense of rhythm is… zero.
Still, don’t they say to go out of your comfort zone, do what you like, don’t feel the judgment, etc etc. Basically, start doing whatever you didn’t dare to do in your youth because back then you were insecure, but now you are a confident grown up woman. Translated, you are too old to give a toss. Let’s face it, after basically having to strip in public because you are suddenly and randomly roasting, while everyone else is all wrapped up in their hats and scarves, the possibility of losing your dignity won’t stop you any longer.
And so, with the strength of my middle-aged “confidence”, I joined the choir. And of course, on my first session, all that confidence disappeared. I was so nervous that I could barely speak. Let alone sing. The ladies there, on the other hand, were so welcoming that after a while I forgot how nervous I was, and so I sang, and I was not too bad after all. Or so I thought.
Every Monday evening here I am, happy out rehearsing in the choir for the Christmas concert. Actually, happy out till last Saturday when I received a text from Ms A, the choir director, who wanted to meet to discuss how I was getting on.
I completely panicked!
It could be standard routine, but then should she not have wanted to discuss her progress even with daughter number two? We joined together after all. -Don’t overthink-, I kept saying to myself, -there could be a million simple reasons she want to see you for-; or just one: She was going to kick me out of the choir. Could she even do that? Maybe when she had told me, twice, “Give yourself another week and then see what you can contribute and decide if you want to stay,” she was not encouraging me; she was DISCOURAGING me instead!!!!
The text arrived on Friday; we set the meeting for Sunday morning. For the entire two days before the meet-up, I have been the subject of my vile family’s jokes and I had conveniently picked a time straight before church so I could then go and say a thank-you prayer for not having been fired from the choir or pray for forgiveness for the threads of mental curse if I was instead.
On Sunday morning, when I arrived at the heritage centre, Mrs A (the choir director) was already there. In my head I rehashed what to say, how to act cool, etc., but then when I got there I didn’t resist and one foot in the hall and one still out, I blurted it all out: ” You are gonna kick me out of the choir, are you?”
Mrs A looked at me in astonishment. “Sorry”, I felt compelled to say, ” I’m Italian, and we tend to go straight to the point.” At that point, I detected a bit of pity in her expression, and my darkest guesses about the nature of this meeting were confirmed. Except they were wrong. She was not going to kick me out of the choir, and she was shocked I could think such a thing. -Well, ask my family- I wanted to say.
Mrs A actually just wanted to touch base with me, test my musical ear and give me a few tips, since it was the first time I was in a choir. To my great shock, this time, what I thought was a total lack of musicality, rhythm, and harmony on my part, was simply a lack of coordination (despite years of ballet as a child and of yoga as a teen and an adult), but my musical ear works perfectly.
I was barely home for a few minutes, and my phone rang. It was the travelling husband, who had obviously tracked me, calling to check how it went. Now, if out of genuine interest or to know if it was safe for him to come home in case things went sour. For everybody’s sake and my delight, things went well, and I am still officially part of the village choir. Updates on the Christmas concert will follow😉🎶
Reading With Ortensia, October Edition.
Hello everyone, it wasn’t a book wise intense month like last one but, I was not on holidays either. We are back to routine and time is definitely tighter. That’s life isn’t it?!😎
Anyway, here are my reads and listening for the month. I hope you find something you like, and don’t forget you can catch up on the previous editions through the blog’s main page or simply by clicking the following link https://ortensia72.wordpress.com/read-with-me/
BIG LITTLE TRUTHS, by Liane Moriarty
I waited so many years for the book sequel; don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the TV series, but the characters were not quite right as they were in the book ( for admission of the very same Liane). I must be honest here: I didnt particularly enjoy the last two books of hers, and I was heartbroken because she became my favourite author; well, I found her again in this one. Of course it cannot be as good as the first, but close enough.🌟🌟🌟🌟
BLACK ORCHID, by Loreth Anne White
The third book by this author I read, and they seem to get better and better. Do not expect a thriller or a murder mystery here, or at least not in the conventional way. It was so well structured that you do not see the various twists coming but in truth, you do not even need them because the plot is so rich, and the real life/events/crachters reference are so keeping you on the page, and you cannot help but wonder what if her mix of reality and imagination were true. Just a warning it is a bit dark through and through🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
MAD MABEL, by Sally Hepworth
A sweet, dark, cosy, sad and humorous whodunit. Now, I get all the fuss around this author.🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
A SOCIOPATH’S GUIDE TO A SUCCESSFUL MARRIAGE, by M.K. Oliver
I had soooo much fun reading this book, maybe a bit too much now that I am think about it.🙄😉 🌟🌟🌟🌟
Love, Ortensia🤓🥰
Random Wednesday
Flip The Flap
Out of the blue, a warning message showed up on my car dashboard: “charging flap open”.
I checked it carefully, but it didn’t look open to me, so I did the most logical thing: I ignored it and kept driving.
The following day the same happened, and the day after and the next one….My response was always the same, ignore it and settle into a new routine: buckle up, start the engine, shut down the message, and drive off. Until then day the day that flap did actually open while I was driving, and when I tried to close it, it stubbornly refused to do so.
Taking advantage of the last two weeks of warranty left I had it replaced and … voila’ no more warning messages. I had silenced the enemy once and for all! Except, I did not! A couple of months later in fact, to my great horror, the message was back!!!!!
How could it be?? The flipping flap was brand new!!!! I even diligently checked it and it was opening and closing properly. It could only be an act of vile retaliation; or else my car was possessed by a zombie who enjoys messing up with the charging flap and my nerves. Either way, I was not giving in. I was not giving them the satisfaction of reacting to their tricks. I instead resumed the good old routine: buckle up, start the car, kill the warning, drive off.
Unfortunately, British little cars are proud and fiery and, most of all, they don’t like to be ignored; and so one morning the flap ultimately refused to close. The more I was pushing it closed, the more it was bouncing back open.
Frustrated and out of patience, I used the ultimate fixing tactic every Gen X has been raised on: the Fonzie touch.
Bingo!!!! It worked!
Actually, it worked too well, because then I couldn’t open it. Thankfully the car was fully charged and I only had to travel locally for the rest of the week. The travelling husband would have to deal with it when back. After all, since filling his car with petrol costs him like a rapper-style gold chain, he constantly uses mine, so it was kind of his problem too. Sharing goes both ways right??!?
As expected he used the car and of course he also managed to open the flap and charge it. Was the damn thing acting up only with me?
– hello is it too much asking for some loyalty here?-
The travelling husband didn’t mention any issue so I had to ask, “Did you by any chance have trouble closing the mini charging flap?”
“Ah, yes, I had to punch it close,” clearly my husband is as keen as I am on the Fonzarelli technique. It was not me then!
“And you could open it after? I. couldn’t. That’s why I didn’t charge it all week” I had to admit after realising that it was not exclusively me the car had a problem with.
“Yes. But there is a way to do it. You have to slip a soft glasses case in, rotate it and pull the flap open”. While he seemed quite proud of his fixing tactic I could only think that the whole process would take me at least 15 minutes and cost me being late everywhere; unless I allowed myself time for the flap-opening routine and that was objectively not gonna happen, considering I’m always in a rush.
He must have noticed my expression, I am not very good at concealing emotions, and promptly added: “I also put some shotgun oil on the closing mechanism and now it is fine. It opens and closes, no problem!” .
What a relief!!!! My darling husband saved the day. Well, half a day because now the flap closes and opens very easily yes, but only halfway through. A little detail he left out but he promptly assured me that, “it’s ok, it won’t open while driving and anyway in a couple of months we will have it serviced and they will fix it.”
I would add, let’s hope and pray that little fiery car will hold her horses for another two months now that “she” knows the days of being ignored are about to end😉
Have a great rest of the week 🥰
Random Wednesday
