The Nameless One

is no longer nameless and had I time I would make this a longer post about him. However I am currently running round like the proverbial headless chicken in an attempt to get myself ready for yet another trip to Scotland's central belt starting at the crack of dawn tomorrow.

 

I generally pride myself on travelling very light, and as far as clothes go this trip is no exception, but as it is basically working time, and as the relentless wheel that is my Gaelic course continues come rain, shine, or trips on boats and busses I will be weighed down with laptop, folders, notebooks, study books, non-study books and some knitting. So my bag will be full, assuming I ever get round to packing it.

 

Meanwhile the new grandson rejoices in the name of Marcus Cavan, which fortunately we both love.

Well, it's not how we did it....

A couple of days ago we became grandparents again. We're now the proud forbears of a real Canadian grandson, Canada being one of very few remaining countries in the world, or so I'm told, which bestows its nationality on any baby born within its borders.

 

Since the baby was born in the middle of the UK night we weren't immediately   telephoned with the glad tidings, unlike the grandparents on the distaff side who were. Not that that rankles. At all. Or Much. Or anything. Because after all why should it? Why shouldn't  we only be told hours and hours after  they were? I'm sure there's an excellent reason for keeping us out of that particularly loop.

 

Bitterness aside, I woke up to an e-mail yesterday telling me the baby was born, and very little else, other than that Son No 1 was e-mailing us because it was the middle of our night and anyway his wife had the phone because she was ringing her parents with the news....and that there was no name yet. We waited most of the day for more news and he rang about 7.00 pm and we were able to hear our new grandson screaming in the background, so nothing wrong with his lungs then. Mother and new son both fine, older son having slight problems with an out of joint nose, but that's only to be expected and I'm sure will pass. But still no name and not likely to be one 'for a few days yet'.

 

And my question here has to be why? Why no name? It's not as though the arrival of the baby took them by surprise. They've known it was on the way for about 8 months. For about half that time they have known that it was going to be a boy. So sometime in the last 30-36 weeks they couldn't  find a few minutes to talk about names?

 

We didn't know on either occasion what gender our babies were going to be, but by the time they were born we had names ready and waiting for whatever turned up.

 

And I know all the stuff about 'not being sure what they'll look like' 'after s/he was born  we decided Jill/Jack just wouldn't suit her/him' but even allowing for that there could be a short list couldn't there? Because there are heaps of names in the baby naming books, like Marmaduke and Ermintrude, that you can just dismiss from consideration immediately.

 

It's not that I'm all that bothered what they call him, he's their baby and it's completely their choice, just as our children wee ours and their names were our choices. There is one name that I devoutly hope they don't alight on, but if they do I'll live with it.

 

But I am strangely unsettled by this inability to give this new child a name. It's not a logical thing at all, just  some strange atavistic feeling that without a name there isn't really a person there. Who are you, after all, without a name?

Jenufa

Even after the  auction, and then going out and buying a TV for the Glasgow flat in the afternoon, the excitement of the day was still  not over, because in the evening we had tickets for Scottish Opera's new (co-) production of Jenufa.

Now Jenufa is an opera that has a very special place in my heart. I saw it very early on in my opera going career and was the first opera I saw on British soil. Long story but I was first introduced to opera when I was on a student exchange in Moscow, so my first two opera experiences were Evgeny Onegin at the Stanislavsky followed several days later by Traviata at the Bolshoi. What can I say? I  lucked out.

 

Once back in the UK I assumed my opportunities to see opera would be severely limited to non-existent but again I was lucky because in those days Welsh National Opera used to visit Leeds for a week once a year and there were cheap student tickets. Which is how I came to see Jenufa much sooner after my introduction to opera in general than is normally the case.

 

Now I cannot lie. I couldn't make much of Jenufa to begin with and in the first interval I gave serious consideration to giving up and going home. However I reflected that I had bought my ticket and even at cheap student rates chucking away half the evening's entertainment was a fairly profligate thing to do, so I stayed, and that was, as it happened, a great decision. Because by the time the curtain came down I could quite happily have stayed and watched the whole thing from beginning to end all over  again. Twice, if they would have done it for me.

 

You know how according to the Greeks a good play should be cathartic and leave you feeling wrung out but somehow rejuvenated? That's what Jenufa does. It's a tragedy in which the audience can understand and sympathise with  the predicament of every single character, and where the bitter sweet ending is felt to be absolutely inevitable, almost from the first opening of the curtain.

 

So obviously I've taken every opportunity I've ever had since to see Jenufa again; not that many sadly as it's not done as often as I'd like. It's not a huge crowd pleaser like Boheme or Carmen and of course Janacek isn't as well known in Western Europe as he might be, but it's a strong opera and  it's not  as though the music is particularly challenging. Of course I'm always a bit worried in the run up to seeing a performance that it might not come up to standard and this time was no exception.

 

But I needn't have worried. The Scottish Opera version was fantastic. It was excellent, it was wonderful, it was whatever other adjectives of excited commendation you can come up with. The production, the orchestra, the set, the costumes, everything was just right. And the singing was so amazingly good. I've never heard this opera sung so well. Ever.

 

I have to say, that day was a good day. One of the best.

 

Project 60 - Number 8

 

 

And as if you couldn't guess from the picture, it's going to an auction. We're in Glasgow at the moment, or at least we have been in Glasgow; the OH is driving back north to Orkney even as I type, leaving me behind to do stuff, of which more later I'm sure.

 

Anyway I have a friend in Yorkshire who became a bit addicted to going to auctions after he'd been to his first one, and I watch the occasional TV program that includes auction footage. (For UK readers this would encompass the very occasional Bargain Hunt, and various permutations of The  Antiques Road Trip/Put Your Money where Your Mouth Is, but never ever Cash in the Attic or Flog It!. Just so that we're clear.) It looked like an interesting thing to do and I'd never done it, so hey presto! I added it to the list.

 

One of the experts who appears quite regularly on these programs is the Glaswegian Anita Manning, and her own auction business is less than a 15 minute drive from the Glasgow flat. They have general auctions every second Saturday, and this Saturday just gone was one of them. So despite being weary from the previous day's drive we got ourselves up very early, for a Saturday, and took ourselves off to Great Western Auctions.

 

It was fun, mainly. It took forever, we stayed for nearly four hours and they weren't half way through the lots when we left. We were lucky enough to catch Anita who did the first hour of the auction, and  I wasn't expecting that, so a bit of a bonus. We found it quite irritating that a semi circle of dealers formed around the auctioneers podium for some of the better lots; they were intimidating types in the main, and looked more like bouncers than anything else. They don't show you that on The  Antiques Road Trip!

 

We learned some lessons.

 

1  Go to the preview and have a good look.

2. If there's anything you're particularly interested in, either leave a bid or find out roughly what time it's expected to come up for sale.

3. Don't sit right opposite the auctioneer unless you like looking at dealer's backs.

4. There's a lot of tacky stuff in the world, but most of it someone will buy.

5. There's a lot of nice stuff in the world, but most of it you can live without.

 

Will there be a next time? Oh I think so.

 

 

Just the Carpet and Curtains then,,,,

I am happy to report that the decorating is all done. The decorator took his leave after 90 minutes on Thursday during which he hung the wallpaper on the feature wall in the guest room and that was his last task here for quite some time.

We have chosen and ordered a carpet for the hall which the new fitter reckons he can do in about three weeks time, unless of course his baby is late (it was due yesterday) in which case we may have to wait a bit longer. I don't even mind about that, because when the time comes to fit it then we will have to empty and move two bookcases yet again. This is slightly better than having to empty and move four bookcases which is what we had to do when the joiner and decorator were working there, but even so the thought does not make our hearts sing. And then there's the new curtains and we need a new carpet for the living room and on and on it goes. I am conscious of the fact that at times I sound like a Makeover Magazine....

 

It's hard to let go of this stuff when you've been living with it for so long though. Additionally Son NO 2 is home for Easter and has had to be put up in the guest room (new curtain rail and new light fitting finally put up in honour of his impending presence) because the route to the bed in his own room is narrow. And hazardous. Not to mention the fact that if he could get to it without tripping and breaking an ankle, he would find it covered in books when he reached it.

 

Never mind he's happy enough just to be here, and Problem Thyroid Cat, who theoretically is his, is delighted to see him. As of course, are we.

 

On which positive note I will wish you all a Happy Easter and go and learn some Gaelic. That continues regardless of high days and holy days and we have our standard Monday morning FrightFest aka telephone tutorial tomorrow morning as usual. Hey Ho!

Yikes!

You may have  scoffed when I mentioned re-writing my conference abstract yesterday but I did it. In fact I worked on two. The second idea was, I thought, much more interesting, but I was never going to be able to shoehorn the argument into the 200 words which was all I had for the abstract, so in the end I gave up and sent off the other one to my supervisor.

Who astonished me by a) replying within the hour and b) telling me it was excellent. By that time I had decided myself that it was dull, but who am I to argue with an expert? He did suggest one minor phrase change, with which I am in total agreement, but then it can be submitted.

 

Of course if it's accepted, and I won't know until the end of May, I will then have to write the paper! But I'm not going to worry about that just now. It just feels good to be able to tick 'do the abstract' off my Things to Do list.

And here's the sock

 

 

that I promised a few days back when we were all sunk in gloom. Well I was. Hopefully most of the rest of you weren't!

 

 

This is the last of the three balls of schoppelwolle zauberball that the OH picked out about a year ago in Pittenweem and I'm pleased to think that I have got round to knitting them all up. Not that it makes much of a dent in the sock wool mountain, but every little helps.

 

And yes, posting here is totally a displacement activity because I am determined to redo my conference abstract today but I'm having very little luck with getting down to doing it. There again it's just past 9.00 am so if I go and get started now I may have 200 sensible words by midday.

 

And then I'll go out and try and catch the flying pig.