Monday, or Moanday as my friend Brenda calls it, is behind me now. I usually embrace Mondays as I love my work and am always eager to get back to it, but yesterday I had a bad case of the grumbles.
Is there a stylish way to gripe? If there is, I haven’t discovered it yet. I alienate everyone around me and end up in a state where even I can't stand myself. My mother's outlet of choice was to throw china. She made no apologies for smashing tea cups (cheap ones) against the wall. She reveled in watching the broken fragments fall to the floor, despite the fact she'd be the one to have to clean them up.
Maybe it's because she knew her moods would chase everyone out of the house and she'd have the place to herself, with no-one to mess it up, ask her to type out an overdue assignment, or whip up a last minute party dress—things she lovingly and obligingly did on a regular basis. (Once, during a thunder storm when the power went out, she made my father tea by candle heat.)
With Palm Sunday behind us, I'm coming into Holy Week feeling anything but holy. In some European countries, Palm Sunday is called Willow Day or Flowers Day. If Mom were still alive, we could have celebrated her name day (Iris) with every Daisy, Rose, and Lily in France Bulgaria
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