I know I have no time to write this - 21:15 on a Sunday, an as yet unprepared lecture to give at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, and a paper that had to be written a week and two days ago... but not to let the weekend go by as if never lived:
Yesterday I was on a bus with a woman who was talking to herself in sign language.
It reminded me of being on a ship in Japan in a big tatami room with a large number of people, among which was a group of deaf people with their hearing children. At night the children ran riot while their parents slept soundly, until someone else took the initiative and told them to be quiet. But I particularly remember a small girl falling over during the day and then making a completely silent crying face to her parents.
In the last three days I have done much essential shopping - alarm clocks, toilet brushes, shoes, that kind of thing. And I have ascertained finally that the blank stares I meet with any time I ask to be directed to the cotton wool is not because of my pronunciation, but because the term doesn't exist here. If you think about it, it must sound rather strange if you've never heard it before.
I also discovered the difficulty of asking to be directed to the other cheese counter in King Soopers. They have, for some reason, the bog-standard American cheese at one end of the supermarket, and the things you might consider eating at the other end. If you haven't thought it out in advance, then when the man asks you, "What kind of cheese are you looking for?" it is difficult to find a reply that people around won't find offensive: "Something edible." "Something that doesn't taste like plastic and glow bright orange." Cheddar, Muenster, Swiss, Provolone... perhaps someone American can tell me the difference, since to me the only discernible one is the colour. Oh, and then there is "American" which in my thankfully limited experience is reminiscent of the semi-digested milk someone's baby once threw up on me, only orange again.
When you think about it, it's amazing that I should have reached this age and only been thrown up on by a baby once.
I also found acceptable tissues at last. As recommended, the source is Target. They have those small almost cubic boxes in single plain colours: burgundy, navy, and Regency green (my term - I have no idea what that shade is really called). Now I am prepared to catch horrible colds in winter and not be made to feel worse by the sight of nasty floral tissue boxes.
Yesterday I was on a bus with a woman who was talking to herself in sign language.
It reminded me of being on a ship in Japan in a big tatami room with a large number of people, among which was a group of deaf people with their hearing children. At night the children ran riot while their parents slept soundly, until someone else took the initiative and told them to be quiet. But I particularly remember a small girl falling over during the day and then making a completely silent crying face to her parents.
In the last three days I have done much essential shopping - alarm clocks, toilet brushes, shoes, that kind of thing. And I have ascertained finally that the blank stares I meet with any time I ask to be directed to the cotton wool is not because of my pronunciation, but because the term doesn't exist here. If you think about it, it must sound rather strange if you've never heard it before.
I also discovered the difficulty of asking to be directed to the other cheese counter in King Soopers. They have, for some reason, the bog-standard American cheese at one end of the supermarket, and the things you might consider eating at the other end. If you haven't thought it out in advance, then when the man asks you, "What kind of cheese are you looking for?" it is difficult to find a reply that people around won't find offensive: "Something edible." "Something that doesn't taste like plastic and glow bright orange." Cheddar, Muenster, Swiss, Provolone... perhaps someone American can tell me the difference, since to me the only discernible one is the colour. Oh, and then there is "American" which in my thankfully limited experience is reminiscent of the semi-digested milk someone's baby once threw up on me, only orange again.
When you think about it, it's amazing that I should have reached this age and only been thrown up on by a baby once.
I also found acceptable tissues at last. As recommended, the source is Target. They have those small almost cubic boxes in single plain colours: burgundy, navy, and Regency green (my term - I have no idea what that shade is really called). Now I am prepared to catch horrible colds in winter and not be made to feel worse by the sight of nasty floral tissue boxes.
4 comments:
Is "bog-standard" the type of American cheese that Grendel prefers? What is "cotton wool"?
I like the mute crying kid.
Last Saturday I sprained or possible broke my ankle while running too on a dirt trail.
Now there are so many people going around on crutches, just like me.
But lots of folks hold the door and say sympathetic things.
Let us know when you'll be around
Boulder; it's a good season to catch sight of bears.
Did you work out what the equivalent to cotton wool is?
The equivalent? Well, that would be cotton buds, or cotton balls, or cotton... whatever form you're buying it in. As far as I can see, if you don't want to specify then it is just cotton. But I'm not sure what happens if you're in a department store where they have both toiletries and haberdashery.
Which brings me to another question I've been meaning to look into for a while: can you call toiletries toiletries here, or are they bathroomeries?
Oh Uncle Eric,
For the first time tonight it occurred to me to click on your user name. ........???????
Have I been somehow missing a vital aspect of your life?
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