Days 20-21 - Thou shalt be moved to tears by simple things

This weekend has been full of emotional reactions for me, the majority of which have brought me close to tears... mostly in a good way.

Yesterday I took my mum out for her birthday - as a surprise, I had bought tickets for the two of us to see Potted Potter, a hilarious "unauthorised" re-enactment by 2 British gentlemen of all 7 Harry Potter books in 70 minutes. The auditorium was packed, with ages ranging from very young to less young! Mum and I are both devoted Potter fans, but we had no idea at all what to expect. The show was hysterical, with the whole audience in fits of laughter from start to finish. Luckily I had visited the Ladies' Room before the show, otherwise I'm sure I would have wet myself. I'm sure my abs are much stronger, as a result of all the laughter.

Before meeting up with Mum, I had been to an orchestra rehearsal where, realising that our performance was only one week away, everyone proceeded to finely butcher the music and the conductor, very rightly, ripped us to shreds. The music we are playing is some of the most thoroughly magnificent and moving music of all time - it would be such a shame to play it any less than brilliantly. I really must practise this week.


This afternoon, after a beautiful walk for charity around one of the most gorgeous parts of Melbourne, Mum and I decided to visit an inner-city department store, which was recently renovated in opulent fashion, as a last desperate attempt to improve its damaged image and flagging profits. The place is now stunning, but, as it has been for many recent years, its service is still a big steaming pile of shit. Some turds, it seems, cannot be polished. One particularly rude salesperson, today, in the Christmas section of all places, made me more upset than I should have been, by speaking to Mum as though she were a cognitively-impaired child. So strong was my reaction to her that I actually put my hand up between us and asked her to stop yelling at us, and I wanted nothing more than to punch her square in her hateful hairy face. I'm sure she could see the dislike in my face, and my reaction to her was so strong, that I proceeded to dump our purchases-to-be on a nearby shelf and insisted that we leave without dignifying the place with our custom, and I nearly had an irrational cry on the train home.

Having come home and taken my anger out on some bread dough, and cried my way through the final chapters of J.K. Rowling's new book, I find myself listening to a beautiful excerpt of Cavalleria Rusticana on repeat, and using all the tissues in the house. If you don't own a copy, download a copy of the Intermezzo (it's an orchestral bit without singing), light a candle, turn off the lights, and contemplate everything you love, everything you miss, and all the beautiful gifts you have in your life.

I dare you not to weep.

Love to you all,
Louki xxx