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Work, and that cat...
May. 25th, 2010 09:00 pmMy on-call reverie (just kidding) was interrupted in the late morning with a call informing me of a support need at 2 pm, to provide interpretation in French (if required) for the launch pad safety briefing. I showed up at 1:30 pm (because that's the way the transportation is arranged), only to learn - at 1:57 - that the briefing had been rescheduled for 3:30 pm.
If yesterday was Italian night in the kitchen, then today was Italian-leftovers-lunch, followed by American BBQ dinner. The weather was not in a cooperative mood, because some thunderstorms moved by in the afternoon (there were puddles just outside the entrance to the grounds of the integration facility as we left for the hotel), and then a strong wind started to blow at dinnertime, so hard that I thought it would be a cinch to call the BBQ on account of wind and move the proceedings inside.
The head table left no spaces for interpreters to sit, so Olga and I just kept a weather eye out from across the gazebo. Olga did get a chance to interpret while standing; I, on the other hand, fed the cat whose picture has appeared in my posts before.
I am not the world's biggest cat fan, but I really like this cat. Maybe it's because of its very independent attitude. Maybe it's because when you give it something to eat, the cat simply eats it in a workmanlike manner and moves on. There's none of this saccharine sentimentality or purring.
A couple of the stray dogs (mother and pup) also wandered up and down the walk between the gazebo area and the front door, looking forlorn and begging for scraps. They've been spoiled pretty well, as folks just toss food their way. The mother is very aggressive in terms of going after such scraps, and the pup (one of several, the others just weren't around) hardly got anything at all.
As you might expect, or maybe it's I who is crazy, it wouldn't be an American BBQ without some country-and-western music, and when some sad song came on where a fellow twanged on and on about what to bring to his grave, I could not help but think of my parents. Which led me to think about how they're resting next to each other, with mere inches of earth between them, and how I am very nearly at the other end of the world from them.
And not only from them, but from Galina and the rest of my family.
And then I got to thinking, what am I doing here?
And then the answers came, in no particular order: I am exercising a hard-won skill. I am providing for my family. I am living in a foreign environment. And even if it's indirectly and imperceptible to any spectacularly appreciable extent, I am helping humanity maintain a tenuous handhold in its ascent from the primordial soup that gave us birth, on a path that may lead to the stars.
It would appear I am a rank sentimentalist, even if the cat outside is not.
Cheers...
If yesterday was Italian night in the kitchen, then today was Italian-leftovers-lunch, followed by American BBQ dinner. The weather was not in a cooperative mood, because some thunderstorms moved by in the afternoon (there were puddles just outside the entrance to the grounds of the integration facility as we left for the hotel), and then a strong wind started to blow at dinnertime, so hard that I thought it would be a cinch to call the BBQ on account of wind and move the proceedings inside.
The head table left no spaces for interpreters to sit, so Olga and I just kept a weather eye out from across the gazebo. Olga did get a chance to interpret while standing; I, on the other hand, fed the cat whose picture has appeared in my posts before.
I am not the world's biggest cat fan, but I really like this cat. Maybe it's because of its very independent attitude. Maybe it's because when you give it something to eat, the cat simply eats it in a workmanlike manner and moves on. There's none of this saccharine sentimentality or purring.
A couple of the stray dogs (mother and pup) also wandered up and down the walk between the gazebo area and the front door, looking forlorn and begging for scraps. They've been spoiled pretty well, as folks just toss food their way. The mother is very aggressive in terms of going after such scraps, and the pup (one of several, the others just weren't around) hardly got anything at all.
As you might expect, or maybe it's I who is crazy, it wouldn't be an American BBQ without some country-and-western music, and when some sad song came on where a fellow twanged on and on about what to bring to his grave, I could not help but think of my parents. Which led me to think about how they're resting next to each other, with mere inches of earth between them, and how I am very nearly at the other end of the world from them.
And not only from them, but from Galina and the rest of my family.
And then I got to thinking, what am I doing here?
And then the answers came, in no particular order: I am exercising a hard-won skill. I am providing for my family. I am living in a foreign environment. And even if it's indirectly and imperceptible to any spectacularly appreciable extent, I am helping humanity maintain a tenuous handhold in its ascent from the primordial soup that gave us birth, on a path that may lead to the stars.
It would appear I am a rank sentimentalist, even if the cat outside is not.
Cheers...
