Someone described last night’s hangout here as a wake for people’s recently lost jobs, and I think it’s a good way to describe it. It’s been a dreadful week for a remarkably large number of people I know, and half a dozen of us kind of gravitated together to support friends. I made a huge pot of chili and garlic bread; Ceri made Schadenfreude Pie (schadenfreude being the German term for reveling in someone else’s misfortune, and to be perfectly clear we weren’t reveling in the misfortune of those who had been laid off, we were reveling in the misfortune of those who did the off-laying, because they lost excellent workers and will officially be up a creek without paddles or boats come Monday morning, but that’s their problem, isn’t it?); and Paze brought over some Bailey’s (both original and chocolate mint) and wings and Asian noodles. And for fourish hours we all sat on the floor and chatted and ate, and provided the right type of distraction for everyone, no matter what their week or job situation. The neighbours from upstairs drifted in. We actually got to see Scott, whose employer allowed him to leave the premises at a sane hour for once. The whiskey came out. We opened a bottle of Soave, courtesy of my FIL. We talked and talked and talked, in a companionable way that I haven’t enjoyed in, oh, ages. It’s good to be there for friends. That one has the opportunity to unwind at the same time — well, it was a really nice bonus.
It was a miserable day weather-wise yesterday afternoon as well, with the first official appearance of That White Stuff on top of nasty wind and cold cold rain, causing absolute havoc on the roads and forcing me to call my MIL to ask her to feed Liam dinner over there because I was stuck in Ville St-Laurent. When Liam eventually got home to see friends in the living room he took serious stock of the situation, then wandered around talking to cats and persons alike, sharing books and macaroni before going to bed (beautifully and calmly, hurrah, yes).
Mousme even managed to clip the claws of two cats while she was here. Nixie, The Deceptively Soft-Spoken Kitten From Hell, made it known in no uncertain terms that while Maggie and Cricket may have fallen to Mousme’s blade, she had no intention of going down until Mousme was lying in a pool of her own blood first. It was generally agreed that perhaps more Bailey’s ought to be enjoyed instead.
Despite the preponderance of badness in the lives of many this past while, we had something terribly, staggeringly nice happen to us this week. The people involved know how we feel, despite our sense of not being able to communicate just how thankful we are.
Oh, and the pie? Ye gods. I couldn’t even finish my slice. By this morning, the single piece left in the pie tin had begun bleeding a dark syrupy liquid. I fear it. But then, one really oughtn’t overly enjoy schadenfreude.