What do you say when…

Every once in a while someone says something that catches us so off-guard that we don’t quite know how to respond.  It’s only later that we have that “A ha” moment and know precisely what we should have said.  The perfect comback.  The wittey retort.  The gracious escape.  These can be supremely frustrating episodes.

Here at seventonine we have a problem of a different sort, and so we appeal to you, dear reader(s?), for help.  Recently one half of Seventonine had the following conversation with our Aunt as she discussed her two sisters (one of whom is one half of Seventonine’s mother) and their husbands (one of whom, Chris, is the father of one half of Seventonine):

Aunt: You know, both of my sisters are very lucky.  They married very well.

Seventonine: [nodding-somewhat uncomfortably-afraid of what's coming next]

A: Even their first husbands were good.  [both sisters had been divorced and remarried].

Stn: [increasingly uneasy] Um, hmm.

A: [looking directly at Stn] You know, I even liked Chris.

Stn: [WTF? followed by stunned silence] I think I’ll go back to the house now.

Seriously, what do you say to that?  Normal coversation pattern seems to suggest that you respond with “Yeah, me too.”  But that seems weird, sorta like “Oh yeah, my Dad’s not bad.  I think he’s alright, too.”  So that’s clearly out of the question.  At the same time, we understand what the Aunt is trying to do and there’s no need to get all defensive with her or sanction her statement in any way.  However, it does seem strange to just let it go.  So what do you say in that situation?  “Thanks.  I like to think I raised him well.”?

Words

Taking a cue from the (late?) VC blog, seventonine will, from time to time, be publishing words-lyrics, poems, etc.-that are meaningful or pretty or something. Occasionally, we will offer drink recommendations to help you truly grasp the beauty or meaning of a particular text.

It’s the last half of this poem that is particularly good-moving so gently from the simple and specific to the grand, philosophical and more general. This is, of course, Mr. Collins particular strength, and it is on full display here.

Poem: Pavilion
Author: Billy Collins
Drink Recommendation: The Glenlivet

I sit in the study,
simple walls, complicated design of carpet.
I read a book with a bright red cover.
I write something down.

I look up a face in an encyclopedia
and copy it onto a card,
the lamp burning,
a painting leaning against a chair.

I find a word in a dictionary
and copy it onto the back of an envelope,
the piano heavy in the corner,
the fan turning slowly overhead.

Such is life in this pavilion
of paper and ink
where a cup of tea is cooling,
where the windows darken then fill with light.

But I have had enough of it–
the slope of paper on the desk,
books on the floor like water lilies,
the jasmine drying out in its pot.

In fact, I am ready to die,
ready to return as something else,
like a brown-and-white dog
with his head always out the car window

Then maybe, if you were still around,
walking along a street in linen clothes,
a portfolio under your arm,
you would see me go by,

my eyes closed,
we nose twitching,
my ears blown back,
a kind of smile on my long dark lips.