I watched tv program yesterday. It was about the history of maths. In fact it was the second series of the set, this time – about almost modern maths, well, at least about last century’s mathematicians. It was, of course, educating and therefore, interesting. It also brought some warm feeling of familiarity and of a “belonging” sort of. The names they were talking about all sound so familiar, almost like a family…well, not really, that would be too weird, of course. But still, Fourier, Gauss, Euler, Riemann, Fermat, all the names I used to know almost “personally” – in the end of a day I’ve spent a decent time cursing them for inventing theories I had to study, while I was at Uni. As crazy as these mathematicians were, it was another type of craziness, not the same as of the other geniuses of the art, for example. They were normal, just unsocialable kind. I can imagine it must’ve been immensely difficult for them to find people to talk with, who would understand the same beauty, who would share their passion for magical equations; most would just look at them in shock and run away from the loony. I only writing about it because watching this program unexpectedly pleased me…the same way as one would feel nostalgic warmth when watching old time movies and recognising the way things used to be…
The Kid has finally moved into his last place of stay – Hong Kong. How long he’ll be there, nobody knows. I miss him, although we do talk over the net and actually, quite frequently too. Over the last weekend I had few learning experiences. Not worthy mentioning, same old, same old, the sobering realities of singledom. Nothing I can’t handle though. I’m soon due to go away. This time the destination is the centre of Europe. Can’t say I’m “so” looking forward to go there. Just looking forward to be away. I realised that last time I was away from my reality it was last February when I rushed over to see my dad in hospital. Perhaps, the need has come.
I’ve been chatting to a friend recently and we came to discuss our mutual friend’s 45th birthday. There is a saying in Russian: at forty five woman is like a berry ripe …or something like that anyway, meaning that at this particular age most women seems to become temporarily more sexy, attractive and hormonally active, presumably, “last dance” before the menopause. We had a little laugh choosing berries we’d wish to see ourselves as, when it’ll be our time to “ripe”. I picked…the watermelon (well, it IS a berry, isn’t it?!) - it is big and has obscene sense of colour coordination – green and red - common, what else can be crazier!? Besides, the watermelon has more chances to end up in cheery punch rather then in some mixed up fruit salad.