This week's office development was a most welcome change. They finally let all the loud slackers in the other room go. ( Mr. Loafer was not among them as he is in our room now.) Originally, there were twenty people working on this project by day- and another twenty people at night. And now we are four. It's Mr. Loafer, Mr. Africa ( who I have had numerous spiritual discussions with, and loaned Mere Christianity), Miss Quiet, and me. It's much nicer now and we all get along fairly well and work well as a team. The conversation continues to range to the very esoteric, unexpected, and ill-informed, which provides great amusement to Miss Quiet and me.
For instance, the men were talking about Hitler, and how he was possibly in touch with aliens. Ah. Funny, that never came up in any of my classes at Saint A's. And Mr. Loafer maintained that someone named Dubois discovered the Mississippi. I knew that wasn't right, but I couldn't remember the real guy's name...so I text messaged a bunch of friends, and as I sent it, I promptly remembered that it was DeSoto.
We talk about the World Cup, food, cars, politics, world history, genetics, biology, recycling, movies, the difference between the South and other parts of the country, music, crime and punishment, current events, relationships, culture, race, children...it never ends. I'm learning a lot- especially about African history.
Mr. Africa started telling a story about a bush dog. I thought at first that he was referring to a pet belonging to President Bush, but then I realized that he was talking about a rural canine. He proceeded to tell a tale which was a very close facsimile of the country mouse and the city mouse and he said that his mother used to tell him this story. I thought it was fascinating that essentially the same story can be found in different cultures. I told him about the mouse version.
But the crowning anecdote took place yesterday when we were talking about planting flowers, and Mr. Loafer suggested that Mr. Africa should plant some bicentennials. I just about fell on the floor with mirth at the thought of planting flowers that only bloom once every two hundred years.