My father used to announce his arrival at a friend's house by whistling as he ignored the front door and walked down the side of the house to knock or call out at the back door. His whistling was usually already heard and the friends were at the back door to welcome him.
Mother recently told me that when he was stressed, he would whistle or sing. I really liked him singing but I hated him whistling early in the morning and so much wanted to tell him to shut up. But that would not do at all. I would not speak to my father like that. My favourite song of his was If I Were a Rich Man. His de da de da, la was superb.
Two days ago R was singing around the apartment. It was driving me crazy. I wanted to tell him to shut up, but I did not as while I did not work it our at time, I have subsequently. Two days later I have realised why R was singing. It was for the exact same reason my father did, stress from doing the right thing for the ill Brother Friend and everything else. R has been remarkably composed, only snapping once at me with an anti Muslim rant and pro Australia Christian history rant.
Bah, religion. If God is good, why am I sitting here, fat and comfortable while children starve to death or worse.
Can you tell my way of destressing is to write and not sing?
And then there is the heating. Ill Brother Friend is cold and so the heating has being turned up by him to an intolerable level. I worry about the bill, like we can't afford to pay it, wearing out the air con unit and at times I take refuge in my bedroom and close the door while my room cools down. Sister complains we overheat our place and switches off the air con if we are out. She should be here now!
Interestingly, Elisabeth recently wrote about the battle of thermostats when she had a visitor.