Life is a Cabaret

"Life is a cabaret," I thought as I drove down the snowy, windy road on my way to the hospital for some pre-surgery tests last week. I thought of Liza Minelli singing it, but really about the lyric itself. I was sleepy as I had had less than five hours sleep--I'd been up late talking very loudly to my hearing-impaired sister on the phone.

I have to have minor surgery, Paul has to have minor surgery, a tree limb fell on our house, a part of our kitchen ceiling landed on the floor (after claw-foot tub leaked through the sheet rock), and when I got to the hospital this morning they couldn't find my appointment (but then did). Awaiting an EKG, I got lost in the computer again and waited an hour.

Despite my list of woes, none of the things listed above are life-threatening or really devastating and I am not an orphaned young adult who sleeps on the floor of the church lounge at night (as one young man at the shelter must do). I am not fighting for my life in Iraq or anywhere else for that matter. Still, these comparisons do not really suffice to explain this lively cabaret feeling I'm enjoying.

A cup of tea and the crossword each morning gives me immense pleasure. Shoveling the lovely, fresh snow while the dog romped around yesterday was really wonderful. The yard was so beautiful and the red roof on our old maple sugar house stood out in relief. I dug out a chocolate cake mix I had in the cupboard and made it as a little surprise for Paul. He loves chocolate cake.

On Saturday, we had a fantastic dinner with a friend and her husband and some of their friends in a giant, rambling,old house in Brattleboro. Jen gave us the grand tour, lots of peeling paint and charm everywhere. Outside is a circular drive with globe lights atop river stone pedestals. Inside, besides two 60's style bathrooms, there is a "two-seater" wood toilet still intact. It seems to  have been perhaps an orphanage or home for the tubercular or some such thing. She and Ian found many old single metal bedsteads in the attic and there are many small bedrooms off long hallways. Earlier this month she had ten friends visit and each had their own room. They made us a lavish meal of gorgonzola and honey on toasted bread, scallops and then beef bourguignon. Their tenant, who lives in an apartment above the three-car garage, made the fruit pie for dessert.

This is all more than cabaret enough for me.