I’ve dropped the boy off, gone to the bank (as usual, misjudging the amount I needed to withdraw so I have to go back again), done groceries, picked up ribbon, picked up dark transfer paper for HRH’s t-shirt, had brunch, and have just returned from a drive to Ahuntsic. That was certainly an adventure. Why GoogleMaps didn’t just tell me to go up the 15 to Henri-Bourassa, the street I needed to be on, I do not know. Instead I went all over the place in crazy circles and turns to get to L’Acadie. (Turns out there’s an exit for L’Acadie on the 15 too. Good grief.) Also, the Met is one of my least favourite highways to travel.
Anyway, in Ahuntsic I viewed and purchased a lovely light hard cello case. It is brown! With a grey interior! And it has backpack straps and good handles and a huge pocket for sheet music! I’m thrilled. It’s only about eight pounds, and since other hard cases boast about being light at 12 or 13 lbs, I’m feeling pretty smug. Don’t know the maker; there’s no identifying tag. The one drawback is that it doesn’t fit in the trunk. But it does fit across the back seat if I raise the armrests on the boy’s booster seat, so huzzah!
Yes, I’m pretty set case-wise forever now. Unless something happens to this hard case like happened to my first one, namely something punching a hole in the bottom while it was being shipped by train to Toronto.
I received what could very well be in the top ten worst pieces of news to receive this morning while dropping the boy off at the caregiver’s: Emru’s not doing well at all. I didn’t know this because I hadn’t been on-line since yesterday afternoon, and the news hit me like a physical blow. I had to surreptitiously reach out to brace myself against the door because everything started to go wobbly. I held it together for about half an hour, then found myself dissolving into tears in the cereal aisle of the grocery store. About two weeks ago it was the eighteenth anniversary of the unexpected death of one of my best friends, so this isn’t a great time of year for me to begin with. And like that friend, Emru’s classified as one of the best among us, and while I wouldn’t wish leukaemia on anyone it seems beyond unfair that it should take threaten to take someone as all-round good a person as Emru is. I cannot begin to imagine how his family must feel.
So. On top of all the racing around and emotional stuff going on today, I’m having what I used to call a flopsy day, which I now understand is a bad fibro day: muscles lacking strength to handle fine motor stuff and even some of the mid-range motor stuff. I can’t speak French to save my life today; my tongue and my lips won’t form the proper shapes required. I can’t hold a pencil or write properly, either. I’m mildly concerned about my lesson, but I’ll let my teacher know the situation. Looking back I see that this began yesterday, which partially explains the awful, awful showing I made of a stupidly easy passage in a Brahms Hungarian dance last night (when, naturally, the celli were playing alone to work the passage). On the plus side, my bow hold was more like the new one and less like the old one, and evidently I was bowing in some sort of proper form because the large muscles on the right side of my back were sore when I got home (the soreness was not the good part, the good part was that to get them sore I had been using them, which I was supposed to be doing).
Food now, then packing for the lesson, then resting a bit, then to the lesson I go. I’m worried about getting from the lesson, which ends at five in Pointe-Claire, to the caregiver’s, which is in Montreal West. Traffic is going to be awful. If this doesn’t work I’ll need to find another time slot, and finding this one was hard enough what with having the car and no small person to care for only once a week.
Right. Let’s get on that, then.