The title rather does summarize the situation. This morning started with good- nay, excellent- news. Dolphin Square responded incredibly kindly to my evil email about an outrageous charge to fill nail holes, which were caused by the maintenance department to begin with. They are waiving the charge, which was very nice. The joy compounded when cousin Gail converted the amount from pounds to Canadian dollars. It is many Canadian dollars. Afterwards, I was force-fed of oatmeal, because it is very good for one’s cholesterol. The joy of doing something absolutely good for you is amazing. Afterwards, I got into iPhoto for some reason and edited a lot of pictures that I took in London and Scotland, and this confirmed that I am an excellent photographer, if I do say so myself and I just did.
The next little fun and successful activity I did was to learn how to wear a headscarf in the haji fashion. I want to try it out and see what sort of reactions I will get. Also, it will be sort of a gesture of sisterhood. There is always the possibility that it will chase men away, but it is slightly more complicated than it seemed and there is a need for a tube scarf underneath the headscarf so shopping needs to be done first.
Later on, I sat in the living room with cousin Gail. It was noisy because her phone and her computer were beeping away with messages. My devices were deadly silent. This did not seem fair. I am the person from far away, and she lives here. Rather than phone or see one another in person, her correspondents are using emails and texts. But then, what happened? Matthew, the boss of my very favorite restaurant in the whole world (the Rex Whistler in the Tate Britain in London) emailed me about an article he read on a foodie website called Eater. It was about restaurant regulars, and I was a restaurant regular at the Rex Whistler. He sent the link to the site and I read the article. It was very funny and I will summarize it soon. But, I am very happy and sent Matthew the following email: “I am sitting here in Coquitlam, British Columbia, Canada with my cousin Gail. I was so jealous because her sister, her daughter and other daughter were sending her many emails and no one was sending me emails. And then, I got another one from you and I said: “You can have all of your emails from your relatives that live here in the Greater Vancouver area because I have Matthew!! Thank you for restoring my self-esteem. It was lagging a bit there. Alexis.”
Although some may not know this, I was born in Saskatchewan, Canada. It is a good place to come from. I am going back there to finish the book about Uncle Dave, but it is not the epitome of sophistication. So, to be considered a regular at the Rex Whistler restaurant in London means that I have come a long way, baby (in the words of a cigarette commercial). The article in the Eater has this “regular restaurant patron status” down. She speaks of not having to look at a menu, calling it “an archaic tool of the non-regular.” She cited the great advantages of being known: “As a regular, you don’t need to put on airs; you can forgo the theatrical mannerisms of dining out — composure, anonymity, restraint — and just be yourself.” She also specifies the things one can do, which is: “Cry at the table if something has made you sad, because regular people cry when they’re sad, or cackle loudly at a joke, even if your voice carries across the room, because regular people laugh when something’s funny.” Matthew did have the temerity to remind me that I did cry. My laugh is world famous-well, London famous- and now Vancouver famous. But, the poor author is like me these days. She explains, “As a regular without a home, I feel a bit like a ship without a port these days: wandering, aimless. I’ve tried, and failed, to become a regular elsewhere.” But, actually and truly Matthew did say: “I don’t expect you to be regular anywhere but here.” That is fine, but the commute is a bit far. I thanked Matthew profusely for the article (and the attention). He wrote back: “Its perfect knew you’d love it.”
Then, Gail left to look after her sick grand daughter, Amy, leaving me to deal with my London leftovers. The leftovers are not food, but bills to be paid, energy shut off, phones to be cancelled. All those things are difficult enough to do while being there, but almost impossible from here, yet I am making some progress. It is raining out, by the way. Gail texted to say that when she gets back we can go to the shoe repair shop and the dry cleaner- both tasks that must be completed for me. So, not a thrilling day, but that is life.