Is it Albert who's driving today? Okay. I feel nice and secure then. I had a fab ham & cheese sandwich for lunch on Saturday, per instructions. Then hustled down to the only place in town that sells Drambuie, to discover that even they almost don't now, in spite of being an Irish Shop. None of the staff had any idea what I was talking about, until I spied a dusty gift set on the lowest shelf. For shame! But now I have a bottle of the good stuff and a couple of nice enough glasses and Wow do I appreciate rediscovering what Drambuie is all about. Next I'll try it with ginger ale, if I can find some of the latter. France is so Porto and Martini and Muscadet, there are so darn many things to drink of an evening that they don't even miss Drambuie. The fools!
And then I spent my time in front of the mirror as ordered. Here you are:
How did this happen?
Who is that?
What's with all those grey hairs? I can't possibly be more than 25 yet, and those lines?
Are you sure?
That's what the passport says?
and the driver's licence?
and the birth certificate says the same,
with its tiny footprint and the Seal of the State of North Carolina?
That's what they all say, all at once?
And yet maybe there's something to it.
Grad school was a while ago. A different century.
Students, some of my staff, passersby, they call me Madame, politely.
There has been an awful lot of coming and going to different countries, and that can't have happened all in a year.
Somehow my photo albums have all got stuffed full,
and blogposts up to the hundreds,
and my bookshelves are sagging and overflowing with works I've read and loved.
I've even outlived several cats.
So maybe it's true.
Maybe that is me there.