Either the dust is settling, or I’m burying my head in the sand, or I’m metaphorically scrunching my eyes, putting my fingers in my ears and singing la la la la la loudly. Because it’s been that kind of week.
The election has come and it has gone and there is an answer and that is that. I have an opinion. Of course I do. I’m red-headed Celtic-blooded 44-year-old woman. I have an opinion on everything. But I’m not going to share this particular opinion here. Because I’m tired of political posts. I’m tired of political videos. Of political conversations. Of sound bites and information and misinformation and the machine that goes on and on and just will not let us take even a minute. Remember the Grey’s Anatomy“the carousel never stops turning. You can’t get off” line? The relentlessness? The futility of pretending that because you don’t like a current reality you can somehow wish or scream it away? (For those who have not watched Grey’s Anatomy, that’s a mistake of a life choice - binge watch it and then binge watch it again. There is much to love and also much to learn - I consider myself to be 75% a doctor. I’m pretty sure if I watch it through one more time I might be able to attempt an appendectomy…).
And so on we all go. Other people chose a thing for me (to be clear, whichever way this had gone, other people would have chosen for me - I have no vote so I’m in their hands), a really big thing, but it was their choice to make.
But what happened today was that my alarm went off at the normal time and I made normal coffee. There is possibly a chance that consuming 3 cups (large mugs) of that coffee before 7am, and 6 cups by 9am, may have contributed possibly a little bit to me arguing with one (very large, very hairy) child and forgetting to wake another (a bit less hairy), but I did get through a mountain of laundry, knocked out a doctor check up, did swim meet admin, and updated everyone’s family calendar within an hour. By 11am I had made the impulse decision to fly to London today. Flight and hire car booked. Suitcase packed. (There is a relevant family reason - I didn’t just pick a world city out of a hat and decide to fly there on a whim - although when we retire that could be a fun way to live…)
And so here I am. Waiting to board. My ticket is cheap (like really cheap - the kind where it is pot luck what seat I get) but my credit card is fancy, so I am hanging out in the nice lounge, full of people who bought posh seats or are eligible for upgrades, pretending I belong. Being a grown up I got myself a glass of red wine (ok, more than ‘a’ glass, but that’s not the point of the story). And then I spotted a great big machine that makes fresh popcorn. Somehow red wine and popcorn all made sense together. It was as I took a poorly focused and poorly lit photo that I realized why. Right now, in this moment, I am being Olivia Pope. A poorly dressed version (I suspect she would not wear a Target sweater, and if she did she would not have spilled a little drop of wine on it, twice), but Olivia Pope none the less. Now, I never watched an episode of Scandal where Olivia ate a pork chop, rice and broccoli before she ate her wine and popcorn, but I’m just saying that tele is tele and all sorts of things could have gone on behind the scenes…
And so, in the interests of capturing joy, in the interests of celebrating women, and in the interests of ignoring Olivia Pope’s inconvenient political role, I declare this day to be officially dedicated to Shonda Rhimes.
Now, I’m off to the bar to ask if they can find me a better shaped wine glass…
It’s a Shonda Rhimes moment
Either the dust is settling, or I’m burying my head in the sand, or I’m metaphorically scrunching my eyes, putting my fingers in my ears and singing la la la la la loudly. Because it’s been that kind of week.
The election has come and it has gone and there is an answer and that is that. I have an opinion. Of course I do. I’m red-headed Celtic-blooded 44-year-old woman. I have an opinion on everything. But I’m not going to share this particular opinion here. Because I’m tired of political posts. I’m tired of political videos. Of political conversations. Of sound bites and information and misinformation and the machine that goes on and on and just will not let us take even a minute. Remember the Grey’s Anatomy“the carousel never stops turning. You can’t get off” line? The relentlessness? The futility of pretending that because you don’t like a current reality you can somehow wish or scream it away? (For those who have not watched Grey’s Anatomy, that’s a mistake of a life choice - binge watch it and then binge watch it again. There is much to love and also much to learn - I consider myself to be 75% a doctor. I’m pretty sure if I watch it through one more time I might be able to attempt an appendectomy…).
And so on we all go. Other people chose a thing for me (to be clear, whichever way this had gone, other people would have chosen for me - I have no vote so I’m in their hands), a really big thing, but it was their choice to make.
But what happened today was that my alarm went off at the normal time and I made normal coffee. There is possibly a chance that consuming 3 cups (large mugs) of that coffee before 7am, and 6 cups by 9am, may have contributed possibly a little bit to me arguing with one (very large, very hairy) child and forgetting to wake another (a bit less hairy), but I did get through a mountain of laundry, knocked out a doctor check up, did swim meet admin, and updated everyone’s family calendar within an hour. By 11am I had made the impulse decision to fly to London today. Flight and hire car booked. Suitcase packed. (There is a relevant family reason - I didn’t just pick a world city out of a hat and decide to fly there on a whim - although when we retire that could be a fun way to live…)
And so here I am. Waiting to board. My ticket is cheap (like really cheap - the kind where it is pot luck what seat I get) but my credit card is fancy, so I am hanging out in the nice lounge, full of people who bought posh seats or are eligible for upgrades, pretending I belong. Being a grown up I got myself a glass of red wine (ok, more than ‘a’ glass, but that’s not the point of the story). And then I spotted a great big machine that makes fresh popcorn. Somehow red wine and popcorn all made sense together. It was as I took a poorly focused and poorly lit photo that I realized why. Right now, in this moment, I am being Olivia Pope. A poorly dressed version (I suspect she would not wear a Target sweater, and if she did she would not have spilled a little drop of wine on it, twice), but Olivia Pope none the less. Now, I never watched an episode of Scandal where Olivia ate a pork chop, rice and broccoli before she ate her wine and popcorn, but I’m just saying that tele is tele and all sorts of things could have gone on behind the scenes…
And so, in the interests of capturing joy, in the interests of celebrating women, and in the interests of ignoring Olivia Pope’s inconvenient political role, I declare this day to be officially dedicated to Shonda Rhimes.
Now, I’m off to the bar to ask if they can find me a better shaped wine glass…