It is all in the expression :)

Though they are out of print and largely forgotten now, in my youth I greatly enjoyed Betty MacDonald's books. (The most popular, The Egg and I, was the only one I did not like - her style was not refined as yet in that one, and it was not engaging.) Betty wrote of situations in her life and that of her family which often were very far from funny. Job losses, struggles during the Great Depression, a year in a sanatorium with tuberculosis, an unhappy marriage at age 18 and a divorce which left her with tiny children... these hardly are enjoyable topics. Yet Betty had a flair for describing situations, dialogue, and individuals in a manner which cast them in a humorous and clever light - alternating between affection, wry laughter, cynicism and so forth. She clearly had a gift for depicting the human condition, "warts and all," and even her gallows humour now and then made one see that she had a great enjoyment of life.

For once, I'll pen a post with but a single religious reference. I may be one for the clouds of Unknowing (by which I do not refer only to the book of that title), yet I find the image of God which might be spun by a Franciscan jester to be far more appealing than the hell-fire sort, or the creator who is forced into a punishing mode because of our depravity, or the sombre God who wants but sacrifice and suffering. Expression can be everything - and I rather enjoy a playful God.

A year or two ago, a family friend, who remembers my parents' old neighbourhood well though she is perhaps fifteen years younger than my mother (Chip), was telling me of how fascinating she found my mother (then in her twenties) and Chip's sisters and friends when she saw them walking about during the war years. To a child, these young women seemed the height of what my generation termed "cool." I had to smile, because Chip's life was so sheltered as to make mine seem worldly. She was the youngest girl in a well spaced family of 11 children (8 of whom lived to adulthood and old age), and both the 'baby' and a 'mamma's girl.' I know, both from her reminiscences (Chip most definitely did not have a flair for humour... she lent towards the morose) and from my dad's, that normally the only place to which she was en route with the other girls was the municipal bath house or, on really exciting days, the park. Grandma was well into her 60s then (old age for the time) and arthritic, and her circle of elderly friends would gather at the flat at night - while attentive Chip ironed, cleaned, and made the older folks hot chocolate. This hardly is the stuff of romance novels, yet Dolores was intrigued. (Now that I think of it, about the only part of this which might have been vaguely interesting would be how they obtained chocolate during the war.) To a child, young women walking by seemed exciting, perhaps even glamorous.

The wryness tag is on for the rest of this post - but I believe there is truth in what I say of perspective, even if I am exaggerating a bit.

As it true of most people, I believe, I am ambivalent at times about my home, and often self conscious about my appearance. Well, let us take a look at how my home could be described.

Version 1: Elizabeth lives in a cosy, charming flat, where the air is scented with the combined flavours of exotic incense, pot pourri, and espresso boiling. The ambience is lovely, with classical music in the background, bookcases everywhere, and delightful memorabilia. Posters and prints commemorate everything from Paris cats to Globe Theatre seasons, and the shelves are decorated like Aladdin's cave, with royal memorabilia sharing a spot next to a fanciful faerie, Lladro images of Daughters of Charity, Hummel figurines, astrological figures, and medieval items. It is perfectly suited to one person plus a cat, uniquely off beat and perfect for showing a flair for self expression.

Version 2: Elizabeth's place is a kip. The floors are crooked! Everything is cramped. She should get rid of those dust collectors and all of those books. Doesn't she know that her furniture is not in style? How does she stand the noise in that neighbourhood? And I don't know about you, but I'd never have an indoor cat - and with a litter pan in the bathroom! What a shame - with her education she could have made more money...

I do know this much. How we express ourselves, whether in outward descriptions or our own thoughts, can very much colour all of how we see life. I'm glad that, in my early days, I decided that 'doing a Betty' (see the first paragraph) was quite a good option.