Since having my hip replaced, I have been undergoing physical therapy at a local establishment, and I am nearing the end of the treatment regimen. It has been an abidingly positive experience, and I'm doing just great physically, thank you. The boss of the establishment is a guy, and he is very good at his job. He's great to talk to and we've developed a friendship I hope continues after the treatment ends. The rest of his staff however, is exclusively female, and since he runs a site that is part of a larger chain, he is often out of the office at various other locations. In this time, the level of conversation among his staff dramatically increases, both in density and noise level. It isn't annoying (generally), and clearly it is part of what makes going to work there each day enjoyable for the women.
But there is one small thing bothering me, and I thought I'd bring you into it. One of the therapists is going to be married in a few weeks, and for the last 3.5 months, she has discussed virtually nothing else. No element of the nuptials is too mundane for great drama, and as I show up only a couple of times a week, I have to assume that this is a near continuous conversation. The ladies she works with are either incredibly patient human beings, or they are genuinely interested in the seemingly unending banality of this woman's clucking. It is hard to conceive of the latter. It is driving me nuts though. Whenever I drive to therapy, I always hope the manager is there, as the conversations tend to be much more quiet and even a little more diverse.
What's really kind of sad though, is the degree to which this woman is investing herself in this one day--perhaps this is a statement of my views on weddings in general (wasteful, inefficient, etc). That said, what happens when the honeymoon is over? Is that it? Is this woman of 30 or so to be left without another seminal event to chatter about for the rest of her life?
Onto another glimpse.
I got my hair cut this morning here in Easton. For the longest time, I had been using the Korean Lady (Helen) who has a shop in my old building in Arlington. All things considered, I'd still rather get my hair cut from Helen, but it hasn't been convenient for a while (parking, Metro, etc) and so I've gotten my last three haircuts locally, the first from a straight stick dude barbershop of the old school, and the last two from a pleasant young woman (Kate) at the Hair Cuttery. Kate cut my hair a few weeks ago, and I thought she did a good job. She was given to me at random the last time I walked in, but this time, because I had a safe and trusted alternative, I called to make an appointment. I was told that they do not take appointments, which was disappointing, but that I should just come in, there would likely not be a wait. She was right, Kate was available when I arrived and gave me another very acceptable hair cut. The reason I am sharing this banality with you (yes, I realize it) is the irony (or is it the inconsistency?) of being FIERCELY loyal to a hair cutter who has only cut your hair once, after having been FIERCELY loyal to someone (Helen) who cut my hair every time for five years or so.
A final peek?
The Kitten has an extensive garden right outside the window of the mancave. She's often out there slaving in it, and I generally watch her with great admiration and gratitude, as I enjoy the fruits (so to speak) of her labor--and I admire the hard work it takes. Having had a bad hip for the entire time we've been together, I've avoided garden duty just as I've avoided most every other pursuit that involved bending and kneeling. I no longer have that option, as I have two good, bionic hips. So I've been trying to get out there and help now and again, and like my previous writing on the joys of cutting grass, there is something renewing about mucking around in the garden. Not that I'm going full-bore on it mind you.
Finally--remember--this weekend is for remembering those who DIED in combat, not slugs like me who drew a paycheck for a few years. Don't thank Veterans this weekend--do that on November 11th. Spend a little time in quiet gratitude for those who gave Lincoln's "last full measure". Cheers.