Indoors

This day on the Christian calendar is The Feast of Presumption, a less known holiday in honor of our Lady of the Extroverts, that is to say, my cousin Caroline. It takes a very E personality to whip up a constituency for hausmusik, a German-Jewish style concert at the hearth side (one's own), especially when this includes a home invasion by force estimated at 50, more or less. Astonishingly, there is not only jazzy chamber music in the living room/former 18th-century barn, but dinner in the drawing room/former farmhouse. Provision for the latter has been somewhat intuitive.

I recognize some of my Bendix genes in Caroline's approach. There is a general plan. The details get filled in as one progresses. One of the details is that this is the second day after Christmas, and much of the mercantile world is still reeling throughout Britain, so the shops are open minimally and their shelves stocked occasionally. Tonight's menu has changed several times to accommodate what's available at Budgen's, Moreton in Marsh. Chairs have been borrowed from the local town hall. Actually, they have been borrowed twice. The first time the chairs turned out to be the wrong ones, and Alastair had to drive his van back to the hall and unload them. Those of us of the quadriplegic persuasion only look on fondly, of course. Ours is not to reason why. Let alone get involved. Ours is to comment approvingly and remark upon the visible effort. Even outside my bedroom window, for example, I can see torches which will get lit around 7 PM to lead arriving cars toward their parking spots in the neighboring farmer's field. A country concert.

I make it a practice to avoid the sitting room for at least several hours per day. Partly, I need to do a bit of reading and writing. Partly, I need to do a bit of calorie avoidance. This being a Jewish Christmas and Jewish post-Christmas and Jewish concert day, food is coming at me from all directions. The same can be said for tea, for which I have no one to blame but myself. It just seems like the thing to do.

This is Britain. The world hasn't ended. Tea. Just a teaspoon of sugar, thank you. I decided that because I am currently putting on a stone, 14 pounds, per day, maybe I would try to cool it after my 11 AM late-rising bowl of breakfast cereal. By 12, Alexandra and Jake had rustled up lunch of bubble and squeak (fried potatoes and cabbage) with Gloucestershire sausages. The battle was lost. Merry jingle.

Naturally, an English lunch required another tea, my third of the day. And afterwards, conversing with John, Alistair's cousin, in the drawing room, damned if a little coffee didn't seem to hit the spot. Yes, the spot had been hit forcefully and repeatedly caffeine-wise, but not to worry, for I am soaking up something here, something familial, English, who can say? Late in the day, Caroline asks if I will sell CDs to the assembled music masses. This is, no joke, a home concert, and the local musicians need to make a buck, and the least I can do is help. But I demur, for nothing will slow down product turnover post-concert better than a one-handed salesperson. Not to worry. He also serves who only sits in his room blogging.

An evening of Claude Bolling, performed by professionals in one's own home, is more than enough to keep me occupied. Which it did yesterday. And today, a day later and fully recovered, I am still inside. In fact, I have not been outside for three days. It is reportedly cold. I have decided to stay indoors and put on weight. Why not? The indoor entertainment is not only musical, but highly comic. Jake and Alexandra put on a very good show as sparring siblings. They are such sweet, personable kids that their rude British verbal savagery takes one's breath away. One or both of them have decorated my wheelchair with various shiny Christmas bows and ribbons. I complained to Alexandra that my seat cushion was becoming excessively sparkly. She accused me of farting glitter. Which sent me into spasms of laughter, the post-holiday mood being what it is around Home Farm, Todenham. 'tis the season.