I’ve been inside and outside. I’ve been eating and just looking around…anything to not have to clean. I repotted a couple house plants and then had to clean that up because NO MATTER WHAT I DO I get soil all over everything, including myself. I just ate Skinny popcorn but I don’t feel skinny yet. Maybe I have to eat the entire bag or maybe the popcorn itself was skinny, I have no way of knowing.
My house faces east so, as I’m sure you know, the back faces west. West is my favorite direction because that’s where the sun is the hottest and that is why we put the house here, so we could catch the rays and tan until the very last minute…using a mixture of baby oil and iodine. Now, of course, tanning is a no-no. Well, we did it for years and years and years and loved it. Sizzling and baking on the rocks, a deck chair, in the grass on a boat…anywhere was just the right spot except for sand and I could handle it but it’s my least favorite thing to lay on. Anyway, not the point. The point is that I glue myself to the back of the house and my yard because of the sun. I love west. East is weak, sleepy sun. Sun who hasn’t had her tea yet and is still tired from playing with the moon up until a few minutes ago. You know how that is. She’s big and bright in the west until she gets tired of being in this area and starts moving toward some new place to cheer those beings up. Then we are left in darkness and have to wait until the planet does it’s thing. Around dawn all the people in Chicago run outside and dance, hoping to make her burn through the clouds and shine on us. Well, EVERYBODY doesn’t dance, some people are just lazy and some don’t believe in sun dances. Their loss. Even the cat joins in. Emily knows how to dance and she loves the sun as much as I do…well maybe not as much but still, she likes it a lot. She makes a nest and falls asleep on the bench, all snug and hot.
The weeds are back but they’re green so they can stay. Besides, some of them have pretty flowers and they don’t cry when I pass by, like the more delicate plants who fear me and doubt my ability to care for them properly. Yeah weeds are like, “BRING IT.” I like that about them. They laugh if I try to pull them out. They bite too. So, I just say, “Hi, nice day, right?” and they growl softly until they realize that I’m not going to bother them and then they are pretty much okay for the entire summer. Hey, grow where you’re planted, as they say. I never did figure out who “They” was but it’s a truly unfortunate name.
I bought really cool dishtowels at William-Sonoma. Sadly, they absolutely refuse to dry a single thing. No matter what I do, they slide right over the water and remain dry while the dishes remain dripping wet. They were on sale and I liked the material and color. A lot I know. Crate & Barrel towels are thirsty and I let them indulge as much as they like.
I just got a new washing machine. A tiny load washing machine because the one I had could be used to raise dolphins and that was a bit much. Echo’s of times past came out of it every time I raised the lid. Yes it was THAT big. I had to stand on my tiptoes to get the clothes out of the bottom and I’m not short. Anyway, I cleaned Emmie’s house and have all her furry and dirty beds to wash but I hate the idea of putting them into the pristine washer. Sigh. The other one went off balance every two seconds and I started slamming the lid and threatening it. So my son-in-law got me a different one and installed it. Then he started to tell me how to laundry. Seriously dude? Deb was telling me over the phone as well. I’ve been doing laundry for a thousand years. He didn’t believe that the machine was the problem. They had to replace the first one immediately. They put new parts in the second one and only one setting worked but I don’t know how to do laundry? It’s like the time they told me that I didn’t know how to pronounce Chicago. WHAT? I was born there, raised there, went to school there, worked there, got married there, had my kids there and I was the one who didn’t know how to pronounce it? I told them to listen to Frank Santra sing My Kind of Town.
My friend said that her daughter had her first baby and told her that she didn’t know anything about raising kids. We just looked at each other. She said, “Didn’t I raise my kids?” I said, “Yes, but apparently that doesn’t count because you didn’t know how to do it.”
I don’t think we’re pack animals. I think we each need our own space and can only take being together for short periods of time…at least in this country. For the most part, depending on your cultural background, the days of generations living together are over in a big way. That’s going to get worse, since people are less willing to put up with anything other than what they want. Talk about stress. I’ve heard horror stories about those who have tried to take in a family member. They often end up with broken marriages, sickness, depression, crying and all the rest. Not a good thing. Life isn’t what it used to be…where every house had a grandparent living with the family. Not anymore. Not a good thing or a bad thing, it’s just the way things are.
I’m going to try and finish cleaning the kitchen unless the cat comes home early and wants to play. When the mail comes I’ll have to stop cleaning to recycle the ten million pounds of junk mail. Maybe the squirrel will come to the door and want peanuts. But I’ll get things spic and span. No, really, I will. I will. THE MAIL’S HERE…