but this rose is an extra

I went for lunch with a friend at the main campus. It was sunny and there were many taking selfies near the entrance sign-post. I wondered if they would be back to take new selfies when the other campus opens.

Elektra was a pleasant treat. That opera house is remarkably up and down in its productions. I was glad that this adaptation of Elektra turned out well. Everything was tight, the performers gave their heart and soul to the evening, and I was glad to be among the audience that cheered them on with gratitude and appreciation for a job well done.

Vancouver was warm and lovely. It had more Asians than even this place where I have been dwelling for the last few years. I liked the city, with its mountains and beaches, and cafes and parks.

My new tutor requests painted nails. It is easier for her to notice the fingers, to correct their movements. I like her. I am learning new techniques well under her tutelage. So I comply. I haven’t done this voluntarily in a long while, at least not since my teenage years when I had been besotted with colours and my mother had bought me many to try out.  My favorites back then had been the greens and the blacks.

My credit card company decided to block me from refueling a few miles south. I called them, and we danced the old dance, before they were convinced it was truly their client using the card for a legitimate purpose. I wondered how many times I have had to call them. I must be masochistic. I think I am still remembering old deeds, back when they had graciously suspended interest and offered me a mini-loan, back when I had no job, no prospects, and had been utterly broke in grad-school. I hadn’t even thought to ask them for a period of grace. I had only wanted to close the account and settle the balances, so that there would be no harm done if I had to leave the country once my visa expired. The lady on the phone had been warm, she had said bless you in her lovely, southern accent, and she had wished me the best of luck, and asked me to stay optimistic. I don’t know how she managed to convince her superiors to take a chance on me, or why.  It was all long ago, and yet, not that long ago. I remembered then, as I did today, Sherlock Holmes’s soliloquy on the rose, that rose which was an extra.

I received a bouquet today from an old reader. It was a beautiful surprise. The vibrant orange-yellow-violet profusions make for a spectacle on my dining table. It has given me sufficient morale to contemplate the week ahead.