WHISTLE WHILE YOU WORK!

The first 'full' week back at work was much easier than the previous four day offering.  I was awake, which helped considerably, and 'on the ball', or at least for the most part.

I felt a renewed vigour on Monday morning when carrying out my housework.  Unlike Snow White, I sang rather than whistled while I worked, and felt quite enthusiastic about getting back into a routine.  I was less inspired by 'Ms White', at the tender age of seven, when mum took Elise and me to see the film, and thought that perhaps she should have laid down some ground rules for the seven chaps for whom she cleaned, but obviously my ideals changed, as here was I, on a Monday morning, cleaning and clearing for one who went out to work early and returned late, having no time to take care of such duties himself!  Despite the early onset of a women's lib mentality, I really did fall at the first hurdle.  I don't mind doing the daily chores, and am of the opinion that if you want a job doing properly, perhaps you should do it yourself!  Housework is a very personal thing to me, and I know how I like mine to be done!  So much so, here I was on a Monday morning, carrying out the task with a strange sense of delight, and finishing with a great sense of accomplishment.  My bedroom had been restored to my level of perfection, and no longer looked like college digs.  

As I have no doubt mentioned before, my need for routine has nothing to do with my location, but it is more hereditary.  My mother was fastidious, as was her mother before her.  I used to muse at the prospect of marrying into the royal family, and telling my husband that I would be happy to join him for the cutting of the ribbon that opened the new terminal at a major international airport, but I had to wash the floor and clean the bathroom first!  A single room in Kensington Palace, or Clarence House is probably larger than my entire ground floor, so I would have to be up extra early before going to 'cut that ribbon'.  To me it did not sound so funny.  After all, Snow White was a princess, was she not?  Of course, it is different for those across this side of the pond.  Does one aspire to become a resident of The White House?  Or a princess?  I can't imagine that their first thought is, "Oh my goodness, all those rooms to clean!"  However, I digress! (Big time!)

My husband is retired military.  He was used to strict routine, and was required to be very neat.  He still folds his socks and smalls, that is when I leave them for him to do (which is hardly ever) and makes very, very neat piles.  However, he does not put things in the cupboard.  This is his way (although he would not see it as such) of rebellion.  He, too, is in a 'different world'.  Ms White would probably take his piles and place them neatly on a shelf.  I can't reach the shelves, so I tend to sling them haphazardly and I do not 'hum a happy tune', as I take aim!

So endeth the Monday morning in my little corner of Austin!  I went to what I often refer to as my 'second' job.  The vigour that I felt whilst slinging the smalls continued, and I worked continually with a break for a walk at lunchtime.  It was a lovely day, and the sun shone quite brightly.  Samantha and I went to the supermarket, to stock up on cinnamon and raisin bagels, and were greeted by the guy at the cash desk.  "Hey ladies.  I have some good news".  We looked, expectantly.  We could not think what the 'good news' could be!  "Monopoly is coming back".  We smiled accordingly!  "Wow, we hit Mayfair last time?" I said.  "Huh?" was the response.  If I were more acquainted with the US version, I would have said, "Boardwalk", but instead I used an Americanism.  "We did good!"  I was surprised at dropping my guard, and reverting to native slang, but the reaction was one of complete understanding!  Snow would have laughed and whistled a tune of great delight!

The lovely Snow would have been quite displeased with my efforts on Tuesday morning.  I think the mess that I created would have tried her even temperament to the max!  I had decided to bake gingerbread.  Although originating from the Middle East, (I believe,) the English adapted it to the current day form, (I believe,) and therefore I pass it off as a motherland tradition.  I had also promised to make the mousse bomb that was made often by my mother, the origins of which were probably not from my homeland, but as my mum made it, I was claiming British credit!  As the cake was going to take a while in the oven, I started with the batter and set out the ingredients. (Very Snow like.)  Two items I had brought back with me from my last trip.  Golden Syrup is very English, as is the black treacle that the old company created.  (Despite Tate and Lyle selling out to the Americans in 2010!)  It is also very sticky.  I had bought back a tin from England that was 'sell by February 2017', but anyone who knows anything about 'Golden Syrup', knows that before the advent of 'sell by' dates, this item sat in the cupboard for years, until it went 'sugary' and no longer caused the entire kitchen to be sticky!  It is both magnificent and lethal.  Removing the lid from the can is an art in itself, but it is almost (and I say almost, as I know there are tricks) impossible to take the syrup from the receptacle and not 'drip a drop'.  The tiniest spec causes stickyitis throughout the surrounding area, and the rim of the tin needs 'desyruping' before the lid can be replaced.  I can almost see my entire generation of golden syrup lovers nodding their heads in agreement, and those who have never experienced the delicacy are left wondering as to what on earth I am referring!  However, again, I digress.  After syrup central clean-up, I had the rest of the kitchen to restore!  Whistling was not heard. Muttering was probably perceived!  There was a lot of clattering and perhaps one or two choice words thrown around.  I was going to be late for my other job.  Oh Snow!  Where art thou?

Our walk at lunchtime brought a tear to our eyes. As a youngster I was always both amazed and intrigued by the patriotism shown by citizens of this great country.  Like most things, enthusiasm wains, and opinions change.  Although there appear to be fewer than when we first arrived, the flying of the stars and stripes is still quite a wonderful sight.  The thirteen stripes represent the original 'break away' states from the Brits and the stars represent the number of states. Without getting into a political wrangle, which is not my objective at all, as this is not the place to do so, I believe the flag is, if nothing else, an historical banner.  It represents the nation as a whole, just like the Union Jack.  Tuesday afternoon, we were treated to a rare sight.  The local petrol station was hoisting a new flag, and whilst the person delivering the flag stood by, a soldier, in fatigues, stood and made sure it did not touch the ground.  As it was hoisted up, the soldier stood back and saluted, until it reached its intended place, and then dropped his hand.  Samantha and I looked on in awe.  It was a beautiful sight, and we are entitled to our opinion, as others are entitled to theirs.  We live here, and we live by the rules!

So endeth Tuesday and the 'gingerbread and flag' tale.  If Ms White was in my house, she would also have Wednesday morning off!  Well not quite!  I had to prepare dinner before leaving for coffee with Joe and Gail, and after a wonderful 'catch up' I headed back across town to get a fingernail 'refurb'.  I had bought Michele two items back from the motherland.  One was a jar of mincemeat, which she found both exciting and amusing.  She watches the Great British Bake-off and is quite delighted with her understanding of various culinary terms, thanks to our extensive discussions!  The second item caused her to laugh loudly, and promoted a visit from the hair stylist who was in the other room.  "You have to see what my English client has bought me!" she said to the young girl who came in from her station.  "I love Paul Hollywood", shrieked the stylist, (who also, I might add, commented that my hair was 'foxy' and 'way cool', which I found coming from a hair stylist to be an 'affirmative',) as she was shown the box of "Scone mix by Paul Hollywood".  Uttering words of envy as well as delight for her friend, the stylist retreated and we could hear her telling her client all about the show, and how she should watch it, and how her friend had just received the most amazing gift.  We (from the other room) laughed, albeit quietly.

I continued to work my other job, as well as keep up the antics of 'our Snow' for the rest of the week.  As I washed my floor Friday morning, I gave not a thought for the airport terminals that were being opened by the cutting of ribbons, and the man with the scissors expressing that his wife could not join him as she was cleaning the bathrooms of the castle!  Or perhaps she was sweeping the floor, imaging that the broom was someone that she loved, (sing along if you wish,) and she found herself dancing to the tune. Hmm.  Was Snow secretly passing out a message?  Dancing to the tune, or dancing to his tune.  Oh what a tangled web I weave, when trying not to be political!  I don't intend to start a 'movement' here, nor do I think there were any underlying notions.  Although I am sure someone has already come up with one or two!  I would just like to say, I am happy being me, and do not object to cleaning!  I think Snow was happy being 'her' too!  I find satisfaction to be a great preventative!  (There I go again!) 

The wind howled all night and into the morning of Saturday, and it was the only whistling to be heard.  I did not whistle.  I sang, and I muttered, as I cleaned my windows on Saturday before going out shopping.  I could see why young Snow thought it wouldn't take long when there is a song to help you set the pace.  It definitely went along better with a song than a muttering of foul language!  

There was a spring in my step as I entered the first warehouse, and I felt rather more invigourated having hummed the merry tune, and exercised in the form of domestic labour.  My mood was turned one way, and then the other with my next experience. I went to get a trolley, and was following a young woman who was doing the same.  Three people followed us and overtook.  They went to grab a cart and were jostling with the straps to loosen the vehicle.  I stood as they released the first one, and fully expected to be last in line.  (Mood swing.)  However, the guy now at the top of the queue passed it to the lady who was second, who in turn gave it to the girl who had been the first to arrive.  I was awarded the second trolley.  (Mood swing back.)  It was Austin politeness to a 'T'.  We then stood in line in the Container Store.  A lady was in front of us, and one came to reclaim her trolley full of items, that she had left in the line.  "Oh, I am sorry", said I.  "Were you in line".  She smiled.  "That's okay.  I went to look at something".  The first woman entered the conversation.  "Oh I am sorry.  Did I go in front of you?"  I responded.  "No.  You were first.  We pushed in front of this woman".  The trolley lady responded.  "Oh that's okay.  I was looking at something over here!"  Stepford?  No Austin!  It reminded me of a joke my father told, years ago, of a woman who was pregnant with twins.  After many years of pregnancy, the doctors opened her stomach, and found two old men saying, "After you.  No, after you!"  

I returned home on Saturday and Dana was not here!  Shock, horror!  He had gone out with a couple of guys for coffee, and had not yet seen the fruits of my mornings labour!  When he returned, he did not mention the window.  Did Snow White want praise from her men?  She was a princess.  She didn't need it!  I am far from a princess!  I wouldn't mind the odd, "Wow!"  My husband (bless him) does not always notice things.  He does, however, thank me for taking care of him and the house.  I am grateful for the thanks.  

The week came to an end, and I revelled in the fact that I am me, and can laugh at most aspects of my life, and am thankful for most things.  I hope Snow White (the fairy tale Ms White) never alters, and that she now loves her life.  (Did she marry a prince?)  A little bit of romance, in any form, generally brings joy.  I hope I caused no offence, and apologise if I did, but I will not apologise for being who I am.  Controversial?  I hope not!  The only intention that I have is that next week I shall write ........... another story!