Who’s up for a little rumpy-pumpy?

We weren’t, but the noises from next door woke us up from a sound sleep at 2:30am this past Monday morning.

When we moved into the condo we realized our bedroom shared a common wall with the neighbour's bedroom, so we made sure our bed wasn’t against that wall. Our neighbour at the time was a retired teacher whose only foibles were that she had 3 dogs and liked to watch tv in bed. She sold the apartment last year and a young couple moved in. Upwardly mobile, good-looking, well-dressed, twenty-somethings, who made sure they introduced themselves to the neighbours at our end of the floor, and even invited us to their housewarming.

That housewarming got a little raucous – but the next day we got an apology for the noise and an expensive bottle of wine – and She blushed and apologized for months every time she met me or my husband in the corridor.
Then about six months ago the late night/early morning noises began. Turns out, He travels for work. We’re very familiar now with the schedule – his return is always greeted with moans, groans and laughter, and a steady thumping against the common bedroom wall which lasts for about an hour.

So how do we extricate ourselves from the welcome home celebration?

Slip a note under their door? “Hi there! Heard you had welcome home sex last night, but do you mind doing it earlier in the evening as both my husband and I have to work in the morning?”

I thought of sharing my passion for Wagnerian opera with them but my husband refused to move the home entertainment system into the bedroom. He did suggest, rather sheepishly, that we could reciprocate in kind. I just gave him my “not bloody likely” look.

And I don’t know if I’ve got the courage to actually say something to them. I’d probably turn beet red and start stuttering! and so would She!

I’m open to suggestions. Please!

***

Space invaders…

No, not the beam me up, Scotty/blow ‘em up with your death-ray gun variety, but the genus here on earth. Humans… people… annoying people… ok, let’s lay it on the table: galling sods who assume they can encroach on your private space.

It happens more and more, and as I get older, I have less patience for people who stand too close to me. As a matter of fact, it really pisses me off. Close encounters of the vexing kind.

Excuse me, what about the empty pen next door?

The other day while I was standing in line at the bank, an elderly man kept nudging up behind me – even though the line wasn’t moving. After multiple “bumps,” I hoisted my handbag over my shoulder, and turned with enough force that the handbag smacked him in the chest. I think I winded him – go on, charge me with elder abuse!

I’ve actually leaned back slightly and taken a mini step backwards, making sure the heel of my shoe made contact with the toe of the person who was attempting to burst my personal space bubble. A little drastic, but once is all it usually takes to recover my personal territory.

Long ago, in a land far, far away, I remember being taught to respect a person’s private space. In school, children stood in a single file waiting for the bell or to enter a classroom. Teachers taught us to stretch out our arms and that’s the distance we were expected to stand from the person in front of us. Waiting in line at a bus stop, adults formed a single line and again, distance rules were respected. You didn’t dare step in front of someone who was already in the lineup nor did you hover close enough to make them feel uncomfortable. It just wasn’t done!

As far as I’m concerned, there are only two types of personal-space rules: my way and the wrong way!

***

Daddy's little girl...

When my father passed away five years ago, my Mother crumbled as did the world around her. She couldn’t bear to go to the hospital one more time and left it up to me, their only child, to bid farewell to Dad.

After I left my father’s hospital room that night, a nurse handed me a brown paper bag. In it was my father’s watch, his wedding band and his wallet. Overwhelmed, I had to sit down and gather my wits about me. 

I slipped on his ring and watch, and opened his wallet. A few credit cards, his driver’s license, some coins, a couple of notes and, tucked into one pocket, I pulled out a well-worn newspaper article about me, aged 8, winning a local dance competition. The headline read, “Dancing Danuta gathers all the prizes.”

Dad had carried that clipping on him for 45 years, a testimonial of his love and pride in me.

Happy Father’s Day…

your Dancing Danusia

***

Once upon a time...

I wanted Elsie Tanner to be my mum. Ever since I was a little girl. This was a woman who I could look up to! She was proud, independent... a woman of the world! Oh, she had her foibles... many of them... but she grabbed life by the horns... and most of all, she stood her ground and spoke her mind!
That's who I wanted to be... a woman who grabbed life by the horns, held on tightly and wasn't afraid to stand up for what she believed in.
Well, that was then, and you can forgive a little girl for fantasizing that one day she would right all the injustices of the world... and be an icon for others to admire and worship!
Not that I ever stopped wanting to be admired or worshipped but I've had to adjust my long-term goals somewhat in the last fifty years of my life. I'm 58 now and the road I've taken hasn't exactly been what I imagined it would be... but I don't regret any of it. (Well, there are some detours I do regret taking... but we'll leave those for now, shall we?)
Be that as it may... in those fifty-odd years I've realized, much to my chagrin, that I do have an "Elsie" for a mother; perhaps not as glamorous as the actress Pat Phoenix portayed in Coronation Street, but nevertheless, my mum has shaped and molded my life and has made me the woman I am today, and I grudgingly admit I'm proud of what she has accomplished in her life and love her more than I care to admit.
I've had adventures, met some crazy and wonderful people, travelled near and far; I speak my mind but am careful not to step on toes (most of the time!), and up to this point have experienced life as best as I could with the means at hand.

I'm not going to stop now... this is the road I have chosen to travel and I will continue to stir... hence the spurtle I carry so proudly!

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