Happiness is so different for me at 53 than it was at 33, or even 43.
Sunday afternoon I came back from a charity event with my daughter. The older I get the more I hate leaving the house, but my daughter was really excited about participating in this community event for L.A. fire teen victims. We live a few blocks south of the evacuation zone, but many of her school chums lost their homes. It’s been a devastating year. We have always been renters, and we moved two years ago from an affordable but small little house in a great area. The landlord lived in the house next door and used to get drunk and stand on his porch scream-singing, so it was awkward to say the least. What finally made us move from this below market rental was sewage backing up into the bathtub.
For the third time in a single month.
And the four of us were sharing one bathroom. At one point in the last six months we lived there a bucket with cat litter was our bathroom for a few days. When you get something below market value, let’s just say you get what you pay for.
I’m still sad that old shitty house burned to the ground. We were happy there in the ways I used to be happy back then.
I was writing about happiness, wasn’t I? That’s so like me — to get so into backstory I lose the original thread.
I came back and Odie had gone to the grocery store already. Fresh snacks! I snuggled into my bed, turned on my Christmas present tv, and saw that Murderbot premiered with the first two episodes.
Happiness now: me in my cozies (yoga pants with holes, a tank top, an ancient cardigan washed to exquisite softness over years); a show to watch, ice cream, my favorite spoon. To quote Marianne Dashwood in 1995’s Ang Lee masterpiece “Sense and Sensibility,” Is there any felicity equal to this?
To quote Mike Schur’s 2009 masterpiece “Parks and Recreation,” Everything hurts, and I’m dying.
Odie and I went to the Renaissance Faire on Saturday and my hips, knees, and ankles ain’t what they used to be when I was a spry 26 year-old carrying a banner in the opening and closing parades. The Faire isn’t what it used to be either. The clothes for sale are cheap yet overpriced. The crafts for sale are less frequently the work of artisans and more often the work of 3D printers. The storyline of the fair has vanished. When I worked every weekend in the 2000s, there was a through-line for the entire experience. We knew the politics. The Queen was on progress in the midst of tension with the Spanish who were salty about English pirates. Young Master Shakespeare was with the traveling court to write plays for the pleasure of her majesty. My guild “performed” an afternoon dinner, Tudor style, for the entertainment of gawking tourists, which mostly involved eating lots of bread and cheese, then napping on a hay bale.
However, I love dressing in authentic period clothing and touring the booths and looking at the costumes of other patrons, so we had a grand time. Yes, the younger me would have looked down my nose at the women with off the shoulder chemises (HARLOTS!) and their knave companions violating sumptuary laws with impunity (who are all these nobodies in armor?). But happiness is different for me than it used to be.
Taking my girl to a charity event. Spending a few hours in the natural fiber, authentic period costume I’ve curated over years, piece by precious piece. Apple TV. Ice cream. My favorite spoon.
The Friendly Pedant by Mrs. Odie
Happiness looks different
Happiness is so different for me at 53 than it was at 33, or even 43.
Sunday afternoon I came back from a charity event with my daughter. The older I get the more I hate leaving the house, but my daughter was really excited about participating in this community event for L.A. fire teen victims. We live a few blocks south of the evacuation zone, but many of her school chums lost their homes. It’s been a devastating year. We have always been renters, and we moved two years ago from an affordable but small little house in a great area. The landlord lived in the house next door and used to get drunk and stand on his porch scream-singing, so it was awkward to say the least. What finally made us move from this below market rental was sewage backing up into the bathtub.
For the third time in a single month.
And the four of us were sharing one bathroom. At one point in the last six months we lived there a bucket with cat litter was our bathroom for a few days. When you get something below market value, let’s just say you get what you pay for.
I’m still sad that old shitty house burned to the ground. We were happy there in the ways I used to be happy back then.
I was writing about happiness, wasn’t I? That’s so like me — to get so into backstory I lose the original thread.
I came back and Odie had gone to the grocery store already. Fresh snacks! I snuggled into my bed, turned on my Christmas present tv, and saw that Murderbot premiered with the first two episodes.
Happiness now: me in my cozies (yoga pants with holes, a tank top, an ancient cardigan washed to exquisite softness over years); a show to watch, ice cream, my favorite spoon. To quote Marianne Dashwood in 1995’s Ang Lee masterpiece “Sense and Sensibility,” Is there any felicity equal to this?
To quote Mike Schur’s 2009 masterpiece “Parks and Recreation,” Everything hurts, and I’m dying.
Odie and I went to the Renaissance Faire on Saturday and my hips, knees, and ankles ain’t what they used to be when I was a spry 26 year-old carrying a banner in the opening and closing parades. The Faire isn’t what it used to be either. The clothes for sale are cheap yet overpriced. The crafts for sale are less frequently the work of artisans and more often the work of 3D printers. The storyline of the fair has vanished. When I worked every weekend in the 2000s, there was a through-line for the entire experience. We knew the politics. The Queen was on progress in the midst of tension with the Spanish who were salty about English pirates. Young Master Shakespeare was with the traveling court to write plays for the pleasure of her majesty. My guild “performed” an afternoon dinner, Tudor style, for the entertainment of gawking tourists, which mostly involved eating lots of bread and cheese, then napping on a hay bale.
However, I love dressing in authentic period clothing and touring the booths and looking at the costumes of other patrons, so we had a grand time. Yes, the younger me would have looked down my nose at the women with off the shoulder chemises (HARLOTS!) and their knave companions violating sumptuary laws with impunity (who are all these nobodies in armor?). But happiness is different for me than it used to be.
Taking my girl to a charity event. Spending a few hours in the natural fiber, authentic period costume I’ve curated over years, piece by precious piece. Apple TV. Ice cream. My favorite spoon.
Share this:
Related
About Mrs Odie
Friendly Pedant; Humble Genius