Ebola
"Yeah. But ....should YOU not be worried why are you NOT more worried?... it's.... it's...spreading. The World Health People are worried....I mean do you not think that maybe we should like stay home for a few weeks until it all like blows over?"' The Boy snorts "Oh HELLO! It's not coming HERE! Child!. we are Very... Low... Risk. Miss DEMPSEY you know says its just actually body fluids?, its like actually been here before? and so it will actually burn itself out?" "But.... what about all the....all the.. People... more than ever before.... dying. And its getting Out of Africa, it's coming to.... coming to..." "Huh!" the boy dismissive "That's because of their like Poor Health Care. That's different." She looks at me, appealingly. "I mean I can't you know stop thinking about it. Why would it be in The News?, all the time? Cause it's NOT going away. That's why. And, it's actually still..still...coming...and so shouldn't we be even like be taking out temperatures?..or ..or" "No! Angel No!. Really. We shouldn't"
Luckily, we have the Irish Health Care System.
I raise my hand against the boy's next pronouncement. Tell the boss firmly that Ebola is never penetrating the obscure fug of the Irish Tribal Carapace, ask her to think instead on how scared the People trapped in the midst of the raging epidemic must be, before she indulges in ramping up her own terror gauge, consigning us to quarantines which would have to include the Boy!! etcetera etcetera. She shifts from harrowed to rueful. You know, she says the guys in school start coughing and rubbing their foreheads when they see me now, because I asked Ms Dempsey, if we shouldn't be taking like precautions and you know pray for them..." Hmm. Lucky Smart Arsed entitled Irish. With The Health Service Executive between us and all harm.. Really.
Not Entirely Getting what she was Doing with the Whiskey Bottle
We go to see Gone Girl on Saturday. I want to coast for the evening. I have read the book. It's one of those books where you find yourself sticking with the second half having being engaged by the first bit. Despite a constant "oh, come on!!!"internal chorus not quite causing you to fling the book across the room . Anyway its popcorn cinema as I expected it would be. I am bemused on Sunday to read an article criticizing the writer, being disturbed, concerned about its depiction of Bitch Woman, finding anti woman riffs in the antics of the ludicrous heroine. "You needn't think I 'll be going to that " my husband felt called upon to tell me, as we watched an add for Fifty Shades Of Grey at the start of the movie. I tell him that he needn't t think that I will either. And for good measure, if I want to indulge myself in a read about Sexual Shenanigans from the Dark Id, there are actually some really good books... eschewing the swooning syrup. No, really!!!
Extremely Ravishing and Pointlessly Gorgeous.
And all of this, Ebola, Silly Sex, my daughters tormented vision of a stalking, advancing virus, plays out a against the prettiest most painterly Autumn. The leaves kaleidoscoping pink to red to orange gold on the garden tree in front of my living room window, till scattered artfully on the grass by the wind, glistening with raindrops from sporadic showers till taken up again to dance by the sudden, benignly humming, gales. The shivering red orange fairy trees on the green. Darkly plum leaves layered on strained green and gold in the lane. The berries every shade of dark to blood red in the bush as thought the painter decided I can't decide, oh what the hell, I'll do the spectrum! Old yellow apples, clustered, dying devine overhead. All gorgeous pointlessness on its way to decay, I tell the Boss, extravagant pleasing color just for the hell of it. Really. Lucky... we.
"Yeah. But ....should YOU not be worried why are you NOT more worried?... it's.... it's...spreading. The World Health People are worried....I mean do you not think that maybe we should like stay home for a few weeks until it all like blows over?"' The Boy snorts "Oh HELLO! It's not coming HERE! Child!. we are Very... Low... Risk. Miss DEMPSEY you know says its just actually body fluids?, its like actually been here before? and so it will actually burn itself out?" "But.... what about all the....all the.. People... more than ever before.... dying. And its getting Out of Africa, it's coming to.... coming to..." "Huh!" the boy dismissive "That's because of their like Poor Health Care. That's different." She looks at me, appealingly. "I mean I can't you know stop thinking about it. Why would it be in The News?, all the time? Cause it's NOT going away. That's why. And, it's actually still..still...coming...and so shouldn't we be even like be taking out temperatures?..or ..or" "No! Angel No!. Really. We shouldn't"
Luckily, we have the Irish Health Care System.
I raise my hand against the boy's next pronouncement. Tell the boss firmly that Ebola is never penetrating the obscure fug of the Irish Tribal Carapace, ask her to think instead on how scared the People trapped in the midst of the raging epidemic must be, before she indulges in ramping up her own terror gauge, consigning us to quarantines which would have to include the Boy!! etcetera etcetera. She shifts from harrowed to rueful. You know, she says the guys in school start coughing and rubbing their foreheads when they see me now, because I asked Ms Dempsey, if we shouldn't be taking like precautions and you know pray for them..." Hmm. Lucky Smart Arsed entitled Irish. With The Health Service Executive between us and all harm.. Really.
Not Entirely Getting what she was Doing with the Whiskey Bottle
We go to see Gone Girl on Saturday. I want to coast for the evening. I have read the book. It's one of those books where you find yourself sticking with the second half having being engaged by the first bit. Despite a constant "oh, come on!!!"internal chorus not quite causing you to fling the book across the room . Anyway its popcorn cinema as I expected it would be. I am bemused on Sunday to read an article criticizing the writer, being disturbed, concerned about its depiction of Bitch Woman, finding anti woman riffs in the antics of the ludicrous heroine. "You needn't think I 'll be going to that " my husband felt called upon to tell me, as we watched an add for Fifty Shades Of Grey at the start of the movie. I tell him that he needn't t think that I will either. And for good measure, if I want to indulge myself in a read about Sexual Shenanigans from the Dark Id, there are actually some really good books... eschewing the swooning syrup. No, really!!!
Extremely Ravishing and Pointlessly Gorgeous.
And all of this, Ebola, Silly Sex, my daughters tormented vision of a stalking, advancing virus, plays out a against the prettiest most painterly Autumn. The leaves kaleidoscoping pink to red to orange gold on the garden tree in front of my living room window, till scattered artfully on the grass by the wind, glistening with raindrops from sporadic showers till taken up again to dance by the sudden, benignly humming, gales. The shivering red orange fairy trees on the green. Darkly plum leaves layered on strained green and gold in the lane. The berries every shade of dark to blood red in the bush as thought the painter decided I can't decide, oh what the hell, I'll do the spectrum! Old yellow apples, clustered, dying devine overhead. All gorgeous pointlessness on its way to decay, I tell the Boss, extravagant pleasing color just for the hell of it. Really. Lucky... we.
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