This was the least amount of preparation I have put into game night at my house thus far, since we started coming here weekly for D&D. Most weeks, I freak out about panic cleaning and I make a big meal, and I carefully arrange the chairs and table. This week, I was more concerned with the outside than the inside. I had a super late lunch at about 4 o'clock, and it was 2/3 of a GF pizza. I had no interest in cooking. I didn't even bathe until 6 o'clock, and was still dressing and putting on eye liner when the first gamer showed up. It was weird to be so casual, even though during most of the winter I was wearing pajamas when everyone was here. I put forth a half-hearted attempt to wash dishes while everyone was getting settled, but that was it. Maybe this is a breakthrough for me, feeling comfortable around this group enough that I don't have to pretend I'm a more energetic housekeeper than I really am. I'll choose to view it positively, rather than brand myself a sloth.
I did do a lot of work around here today. I had help from my son-in-law, and we knocked out the two years' worth of accumulated debris from the back patio. It has been that long since I had so lovingly cleaned it all up and made the patio a nice place to sit with coffee or a meal. Since then, it filled up with spray paint cans and cardboard, spa chemicals, backpacks, rusty nails, gardening tools, and mountains of leaves and tufts of dog hair. We moved a crazy amount of kindling wood (from his apple tree, oddly enough, intended for smoking meats). I made an error in judgement and looked at a rug that had been wrecked by dogs, and threw it in the trash in the alley. I was lectured for that later, when I was sternly reminded that it goes in the back of the truck when Murray travels. I wasn't thinking along those lines. I just saw an icky rug on the patio. We made quicker work than I expected, and by the time I had to leave to get XS from school, I had moved everything except the hot tub that will need to be drained tomorrow in order to cart it off for the new one to arrive. I'm getting very excited. I've showed the brochure to everyone. Without the chaise lounge seat, there will be plenty of space for four adults, and it won't be creepy with us shoulder to shoulder with each other. And while the first month of water bills will be high, all subsequent power bills will be blissfully smaller. And best of all, with the lid lifter, I'll be able to use it more often, even on days when I'm here alone and my shoulders are hurting. In fact, I'll especially use it then. It will do me good.
I showed off Harvey's photo essay from this morning to my friends and family. He told me in great detail that Food Is Love, and he insisted that if I loved him I would pour out a half-dollar sized spill of cream while I was making my coffee. I tried to say no, but he was very persuasive. I spend the majority of my time in this house calling out to other rooms, "What was that? What now?" There are crashes and dragging noises and sounds of metal on tile, all day and all night. He's an annoying little boy, who will never, ever be as big as his adopted brother Alfred. But in that tiny cat body, there is so much concentrated personality, I have to take the bad with the good. Because when he's good, he's so, so charming.
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