Journey to Paradise
Aug. 12th, 2012 12:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
todayiamadaisyI've had a busy day, sort of. By my standards, anyway. My mother came in and we went for a walk on the beach. Not long after we started, she pointed and said, 'Oh, poor bird.' There was a little grey bird spread out on the beach. I thought it was dead too, but as we looked, it moved its head slightly. On closer inspection, it seemed to have a broken leg. So we ummed and ahhed a bit and decided that if it was still there when we got back, we would take it to the vet. For the rest of the walk, we dithered about it: on the one hand, you're not supposed to interfere with these things; on the other, people bring dogs to that beach, and the bird was sitting down by the shoreline where the racehorses run too, and neither of those would be particularly good things to happen to it. It was still there when we came back, so my mother picked it up because she was wearing gloves. That meant I had to drive to the vet clinic, which made my mother fret the whole way there, because I hadn't brought my licence with me and she had visions that psychic police officers would know that and pull us over. Fortunately, the psychic police officers weren't rostered on this morning and we made it to the vet clinic without being stopped. Phew. Anyway, the vet nurse took the bird and promised that they would take it to the wildlife shelter if they thought it could be healed; otherwise they would put it down humanely. So that was nice. Personally, I think it was nearly gone anyway, but I feel better that we gave it a chance. Home again, we looked it up in the bird book and decided that it was an Antarctic prion, which I think sounds like a car and which the book says frequently wash up on the southern Australian coast.
There was a man waiting at the reception desk at the vet's. An older woman came out of the one of the consulting rooms with two boisterous retrievers and said, 'Dave! I've been meaning to call your mum. What are you doing here?' Dave didn't answer; he pushed the door of the other consulting room open, so we could all see a woman clutching something wrapped in a towel to her, crying. The woman with the retrievers shut the door and said, 'Oh, Dave, it was just a puppy.' Dave couldn't answer; he just shook his head. I was glad when the vet nurse called us in, because, sad and all as the little bird was, watching the tableau of Dave's puppy was even sadder.
After that, my mother had to get some stuff down the street, including a visit to the newsagent. They have some new pulp westerns, still with delightful tags and titles:
You have to be bad to get into…
Sin Castle
(I'd have thought so, yes.)
Relax, pilgrim…
Next Bullet is for You
It's real good country but…
Watch Out For Flyin' Lead
Then we went to see The Sapphires, which seemed... under cooked, but was a pleasant couple of hours' diversion.
When I picked up my new glasses, I spent a couple of days with that new glasses feeling, which I just sort of shrugged off. I've had plenty of new glasses over the years, and it always feels a bit weird. I've been thinking, though, that there's something not quite right, as though I'm just on the edge of seeing clearly, but can't quite get there. I could nearly get there if I held my glasses in place and really concentrated, but as soon as I let them slip just a tiny bit, it would all be wrong again. The other night I was driving home at about 11pm, so in the dark and rain, and I realised I couldn't see the road signs properly. I could tell them by the shape and colour, but I could only read them clearly when I was right under them. So that was a bit scary. I spent some time staring at the kitchen clock yesterday and determined that the left eye is fine but the right eye is hopelessly blurred, even more than it was with the old prescription, which is why I have new glasses in the first place. So they've put in the wrong lens, or I've somehow failed the eye test. Once I worked that out, I put my old glasses on and my face relaxed. I didn't realise, but I've been frowning for the last week. I nearly cried from relief. I've also since realised, now it's gone, that I've had a dull headache all week too. So it's back to the optometrist on Monday.
This week's random word:
15. Careen
Careen comes from the Latin word carina, which referred to the keel of a ship. Our word retains its nautical origins, originally meaning (a) to heave a ship down on one side, so as to expose the other side to remove barnacles and (b) for a ship to tilt itself to one side. Careenage is both the expense of cleaning a ship's sides and an expanse of beach suitable for that purpose.
More generally, we use careen to mean anything that is lurching or swaying violently from side to side, or tilting or leaning while in motion. This is not to be confused with careering, which means to move rapidly straight ahead in an uncontrolled way. Don't career when you want to careen, or you never know where you'll end up.
Next week: popper
There was a man waiting at the reception desk at the vet's. An older woman came out of the one of the consulting rooms with two boisterous retrievers and said, 'Dave! I've been meaning to call your mum. What are you doing here?' Dave didn't answer; he pushed the door of the other consulting room open, so we could all see a woman clutching something wrapped in a towel to her, crying. The woman with the retrievers shut the door and said, 'Oh, Dave, it was just a puppy.' Dave couldn't answer; he just shook his head. I was glad when the vet nurse called us in, because, sad and all as the little bird was, watching the tableau of Dave's puppy was even sadder.
After that, my mother had to get some stuff down the street, including a visit to the newsagent. They have some new pulp westerns, still with delightful tags and titles:
You have to be bad to get into…
Sin Castle
(I'd have thought so, yes.)
Relax, pilgrim…
Next Bullet is for You
It's real good country but…
Watch Out For Flyin' Lead
Then we went to see The Sapphires, which seemed... under cooked, but was a pleasant couple of hours' diversion.
When I picked up my new glasses, I spent a couple of days with that new glasses feeling, which I just sort of shrugged off. I've had plenty of new glasses over the years, and it always feels a bit weird. I've been thinking, though, that there's something not quite right, as though I'm just on the edge of seeing clearly, but can't quite get there. I could nearly get there if I held my glasses in place and really concentrated, but as soon as I let them slip just a tiny bit, it would all be wrong again. The other night I was driving home at about 11pm, so in the dark and rain, and I realised I couldn't see the road signs properly. I could tell them by the shape and colour, but I could only read them clearly when I was right under them. So that was a bit scary. I spent some time staring at the kitchen clock yesterday and determined that the left eye is fine but the right eye is hopelessly blurred, even more than it was with the old prescription, which is why I have new glasses in the first place. So they've put in the wrong lens, or I've somehow failed the eye test. Once I worked that out, I put my old glasses on and my face relaxed. I didn't realise, but I've been frowning for the last week. I nearly cried from relief. I've also since realised, now it's gone, that I've had a dull headache all week too. So it's back to the optometrist on Monday.
This week's random word:
15. Careen
Careen comes from the Latin word carina, which referred to the keel of a ship. Our word retains its nautical origins, originally meaning (a) to heave a ship down on one side, so as to expose the other side to remove barnacles and (b) for a ship to tilt itself to one side. Careenage is both the expense of cleaning a ship's sides and an expanse of beach suitable for that purpose.
More generally, we use careen to mean anything that is lurching or swaying violently from side to side, or tilting or leaning while in motion. This is not to be confused with careering, which means to move rapidly straight ahead in an uncontrolled way. Don't career when you want to careen, or you never know where you'll end up.
Next week: popper