When I was a kid, people were always telling me to ‘have patience’. I thought it was some kind of gift, one that I’m still waiting for. And I’m not good with waiting.
Well, that’s not necessarily true. There’s a part of me that likes to burn candles and incense and become as blissed out as someone who is into that sort of thing. Because I am into that sort of thing. But I also think sleep is a waste of time. And this may surprise some people who know me off-screen, but I don’t like doing nothing. Being idle makes me itch.
Take yesterday for example, I was on the couch for hours waiting for spare parts and if that didn’t work, a spare chair. I’ve been saying I needed a change of scenery, but that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Let me back up a bit, because now I can.
I’ve wanted to see Avenue Q since it was new. When we were in New York, it was on in Glasgow, so Sarge and I met up with a friend of mine from way back and we saw The House of Blue Leaves. Great show. We got home and missed Avenue Q again, because we went island-hopping instead.
Anyway, Saturday’s tickets were an early Valentine’s gift (or as Sarge would say, Happy Arbitrary Day in February), and also third-time lucky. And the show was every bit as colourful and fun and funny as I thought it would be. Good times. Made me want to go back to NYC. (I know, I still have to write those adventures.)
We went to dinner after the show, and then for coffee. We contemplated rounding the evening by going to see the new Muppets film and decided that might be over-kill. And then we went to the pub. In all honesty, no matter what we do, I haven’t had a bad date since October of 2009. They haven’t been bad, but they’ve always been interesting.
Back in April, we were on our way to dinner, and I ended up with a rather artistic eyebrow. In April it was gravel and some glue. On Saturday, the front wheel fought with a cobblestone. We soon found out the wheel lost. But I managed to keep my ass in the seat this time. And so, to the pub.
I transferred to a comfy couch and noticed that the front wheel was bent underneath the chair. I can’t even get angles that good.
Essentially on three wheels, I again broke my No Cider rule. While Sarge googled ‘Spare wheelchairs in Edinburgh’. Even though I am an actual multiple card-carrying wheelchair-user, I don’t have a spare chair. I’ve had this one for years, and I recycled the last one for parts. Parts that other people could use. The one before that is in my mother’s garage somewhere. Probably next to some yarn, a few lamps and my Poppy’s old tools.
This one has a lifetime warranty. On the frame. When a castor bends like this weekend, there’s an emergency call-out service. The same one I found when a broken bottle shredded my apparently not-so-industrial tires AND inner-tubes last year. That was the last time I had to be patient.
Back to Saturday, we got a taxi from the pub. We had trouble even getting one of those. When we called we mentioned the three-wheeler deal, and it seemed to be fine. The taxi arrived, and Sarge went off to tell the driver I was around the corner.
Sarge came back. Not in a taxi.
‘He may not take us, because it’s broken. He says he doesn’t want to get sued. He’s calling in to see what he can do.’
‘He can grow a pair and take the fare.’ Yes, I sometimes speak in rhyme. It’s unintentional.
He did. I climbed up and sat on the seat and the chair was lifted in after me.
The taxi-driver must have mentioned his ‘insurance’ and ‘the Law’ at least ten times during the five-minute journey.
‘If something happened, you could sue me,’ he said.
‘That only works if the chair isn’t busted before we get in the cab.’ I said.
I hobbled to bed on three wheels.
I stayed in bed while Sarge called the repair dude the next morning. I stayed put, but my mind did not. What if he couldn’t get here? What if he didn’t have the parts? What if I had to reschedule important meetings this week because I couldn’t get out of the house?
Then, I’d wait. Because I’d have to. I would have to have patience. Because even more than patience, I need working wheels under my ass. Everything else could wait, including me.
Sarge came back and said that I’d have one new castor or a replacement chair by 3 o’clock. I could do that. I went to the bathroom on my three working wheels, and then deposited myself on the couch, using my lap-top on my actual lap. I might have blasted the Avenue Q soundtrack, and then watched Muppets in Space. Because it was on. And I wasn’t going anywhere.
The repairman came in and put my wheel and some new bolts into a castor that wasn’t bent. After talk of replacement stems and forks, I was back on all wheels and feeling taller.
Sarge and I then left the house. Because I could. We went to the new Muppets movie. This seemed to be a good weekend for muppets.
And today, I drove out to the living room; my laptop is back on the table. I need to print out something for this week. The printer is out of ink. Sarge might pick some up on his way home.
My most recent movie date with Sarge was Carnage, before a coffee and a successful book trade with a friend.
I snapped some photos, and drove backwards over some cobbles on the way to cheesy nachos and an early evening showing. My kind of Sunday.
I’ve loved Kate Winslet since Sense and Sensibility, and Jodie Foster since Nell. Jodie Foster’s most recent character is considerably less zen than Nell. I kept waiting for her to burst a blood vessel.
After the film, we somewhat reluctantly switched on our mobiles.
Sarge had four missed calls from work. On a Sunday. The next call he got sent him into the office. Somewhere in the world, a computer exploded. On a Sunday. And I found myself looking to dump Sarge’s phone into the nearest vase of tulips.
In the end, I got to the actually painful number 49. 49, I tell you. These were them.
This year, I have set the same challenge for myself. But I’m going to be slightly more systematic in posting my progress of reading through the stacks. The ones in the bedroom, in my office, sometimes on the shelves and even in the fridge.
I’m going to commit to monthly round-up posts and hope to get a rounder number in December.
Here’s January’s tally:
New Finnish Grammar – A must for anyone interested in WWII, memory/nostalgia, and the concept of home.
The Paris Wife – Made me want to read Hemingway. The real one, not my computer. Though I could stand to read more on here, too.
Bossypants – On Goodreads, I put this on my I Caved and also my Laughed Out Loud shelves. Because I did. Both. And I quoted bits to Sarge, so now the book is on his side of the bed. Funny stuff and good advice. Thank you, Tina Fey.