Everybody who speaks Yiddish knows what alte kacker means literally -- old shitter -- but it doesn't mean that in common usage. As I said, once used to mean dirty old man, it's now said in more of an affectionate way about someone old, and more often, about yourself as an old person. It's not rude, although if you say it about an actual dirty old man, it's said with the sense that you see through him and you know that he isn't very nice. (As in someone in his eighties who slaps young women on the behind when they walk by.)Here's something you don't often hear someone say: I believe I have all the clothes I need. Clothes, shoes, underwear ... got it. (Okay, the Hubs would say that on any given day since I met him at 15, but you don't often hear women say it.) I've managed over the course of the summer to fill in and pick up whatever ordinary little things I wear. I bought no shoes, except for the Crocs and something to wear on the aborted Florida trip at the Bar Mitzvah. I'm good with shoes. I got me those foundation garments, and even socks, and jeans that are somewhat flattering. The most amazing thing is that I've found a place to put everything where I can more or less get to it, and that, my friends, was no easy trick. I feel like I can cross a life-goal off my list. (No, I don't have a list.)
I was out at the supermarket this morning for maybe ten minutes, and came home to hear R's voice on the machine sounding all cheery and happy and healthy. Boy, was that great! She was just leaving for work, so I had to wait a bit before I could call her there, and she said she was feeling much better today. And mommy breathes a sigh of relief. Now let's see how long it lasts, because, as you know, mommy instinct tells me she has mono.
Tomorrow we are expecting a visit in the afternoon from J1, my eldest nephew, who is in visiting from California. Always good for an hour of amusement! He is something of a conspiracy theorist, as is the Hubs (which I love to say as if I am not one too), so the conversation flies. Sometimes we surprise each other with the outlandishness of what we are saying out loud! Anyway, he got his hair cut the other day, because he only gets his hair cut by the same barber here in Bizarro Town he has gone to since he was a little boy. And yes, he does live in California. He gets an inch or two cut off his hair every year or so.
And we just got invited to another damn Bar Mitzvah! This one is in the Jewish branch of the Hubs' otherwise Catholic family; two of his first cousins were raised Jewish via their father, and this is the son of one of those. I must say, we really are a mixed bag. The Hubs' sister has two children who also consider themselves Jewish via their father. (Which I know is not the official party line, as the Jewish definition of a Jew is someone whose mother is Jewish -- as in my children -- but you are what you feel.) Anyway, apparently I'm not going to this one either, as the Hubs said months ago that he wasn't going, and his sister's not going either, so I guess we're in the clear. This one doesn't involve flying anywhere, but it does require spending an entire day in Trenton, N.J., which is about as delightful as you'd imagine it to be.
I saw the last episode of Frasier this morning, and Robbie Coltrane was on it. Y'know, you forget that he's not really nine feet tall.
