Rumbly in the Tumbly

Inspirational song: Empty Glass (Pete Townshend)

Of all possible days to feel under the weather, today was the best possible day for it. I don't mind losing a day of waiting, being able to do little more than lie on the couch and doze, and feel like a storm is brewing in my stomach. I have felt yucky since yesterday afternoon, bad enough to pass on a chance to watch the college football championship game with friends. I don't know whether I ate something that disagreed with me, caught a bug, or am just anxious as hell. At this point, the cause doesn't matter, just the duration. If I feel better by tomorrow, I will just let today fade into distant memory.

The man is on the move. There were several snafus with his travel arrangements, but he is finally starting the journey home for vacation. He has huge layovers between the connections, so this is going to take a very long time to play out. I can only hope that there are no problems with the domestic flight, and that all the stranded travelers from weather cancellations and delays have worked their way through the system by the time he arrives here.

It was suggested that my stomach upset was just anticipation, and that I should enjoy a nice adult beverage to calm down and pass the time. Once I thought about it, I decided to cover all my bases. Sprite is good for upset tummies, right? And it mixes so well with whiskey. One way or another, I think the problem is solved. Now, if you will pardon us, the kids and I are going to hit the hay for early bedtime, and hope that tomorrow is a better day.

Squeaky Clean

Inspirational song: Flash of Fire (Hoyt Axton)

Today was certainly a flurry of activity. The owner of the cleaning service and her employee were here for hours today. My friend and I had worked hard on Friday, I swear we did. We spent hours decluttering, organizing, repairing, replacing. But still the service today was hard at work, and I cannot believe how much dust, how much pet hair, they pulled out of the corners. This house is CLEAN. I feel it in my lungs. The difference is in how much dust and hair I am no longer breathing at all moments of the day. I hope it lasts at least until the man gets here. The little red-headed dog has been super needy since he was allowed back in the house, and even though I only gently patted his side, his undercoat is trying to blow out and refill all the corners of the house. That's just what I need.

The animals were entirely freaked out with the two strange ladies who made strange noises all afternoon. They were still goofy and skittish this evening. The cats have been more talkative than I've ever seen. The kitten kept coming up and sitting on my lap and telling me in long cat sentences how alarmed she was. Even the big sissy boy sang the song of his people, letting me know that he did not approve of strangers and their demonic vacuum cleaners. I thought things had calmed down this evening, when I tried to catch a picture of the kitten. I made a little kissy noise to get her attention, and out of nowhere, a spastic boy launched himself at me, meowed, and ran away again. I had just enough presence of mind to snap a picture.

I chatted with my mother while the crew was here. She reminisced fondly of the days when she was in her thirties, and had endless energy to deep clean her house like this every Saturday. I remember those days well. I can picture it so clearly: the sun streaming in the front windows, Hoyt Axton's Fearless album blasting on the turntable, my mother singing along and vacuuming the big white shag rug, with the huge brown interlocking circles (oh, the 1970s, bless them). Even when she put the pre-teen me to work, I still loved those days.

The Longest Days

Inspirational song: Lonesome Town (Ricky Nelson)

I had another day of not knowing what to do with myself. The wait is killing me. Just a few more days, and the man should be here. But until then, I can't sit still, and I can't focus on any one activity. (Writing is included in the list of activities that are difficult.)  I want time to fly by, but today I have lived at least six days since dawn. Will the rest of the week be this bad?

The animals feel it too. They are wound up as tightly as I am. They have forgotten all their manners. I woke this morning being totally short-sheeted. I have been followed through every moment of the day, stared at, talked to, and walked on. They've stopped even letting me pretend that my food is mine first. The little one is actively trying to undo all the cleaning I've done in the last week. And I definitely had to pull thread from a craft project out of the dog's throat. I recall my children being needy to this extreme only at the times I was least capable of giving them attention, like during two-day long migraines, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the herd is acting out as well. But I will happily ridicule them in pictures, as I did this afternoon, turning one of them into a meme. No idea whether it will run wild in the interwebs. It will be fun to find out.

I think I have lost my best opportunity to get much done outside. I swept leaves off the deck, three bags full, but I came inside early to watch basketball. Tomorrow the big chill arrives, and I will not be interested in going out much. I am sure to lose the few random flowers that have popped up in the last several weeks. I enjoyed having those few stragglers, providing unexpected color here and there, but all good things must come to an end, and my growing season has lasted far longer than it should. I can let them go for another couple months. If I am lucky, this cold snap tomorrow will take out the nest of little yellow jackets I woke up trying to pull the solar lights off the deck umbrella. If nothing else, maybe they will go back to sleep, for the rest of the winter. I wish I could do that too.

Ticking In My Head

Inspirational song: Got the Time (Joe Jackson)

If someone were to ask me to list my best skills, I do not believe "clock management" would figure in the top 100. I don't usually work ahead. I don't pack for a trip until the night before I go, often waiting until the wee hours of the morning, leaving myself barely three or four hours of sleep before I have to drive to the airport. I don't dress for parties until the last possible minute, so that I don't have a surplus of time in which to get sweaty or covered in cat hair. And I can't tell you how many of my best college papers were completed less than an hour before class started. It's the way I work best. Without the burst of adrenaline making me move, making me think on the fly, I don't seem to do as well. I thrive on the stress.

So I find myself now in a very unusual situation. I'm ahead on the nesting phase of waiting for the man to arrive. My friend and I made much progress on the house yesterday, and I know I have more help coming in the days ahead. I don't know what to do with myself. Panic cleaning is part of the intricate dance of life, yet here I am with very little left to do. Athena seems to notice that the floor is unusually free of debris, and is trying to be helpful, throwing everything not tied down to the floor, even when I am standing right in front of her. Or maybe especially when I am right in front of her. The geriatrics are illustrating the need for me to switch to "sensitive stomach" foods, in bold, splashy graphic art installations of vomit. But overall, there is less to keep me busy than there would normally be at a time like this.

And so I find myself watching the clock instead, with my heart in my throat, and my muscles twitching as if I were considering dancing frantically to today's song. He is supposed to be here in less than a week, if the creeks don't rise, and I am ticking off the seconds, ready to pretend for two weeks that we are a normal married couple, who wake up next to each other like it's no big thing.

We will have very little time together, and lots to accomplish besides getting reacquainted. The whole two weeks will need to be managed carefully, so no time is wasted. I should pretend it is always the last minute, so I don't let the clock run away from me.

(Again, I have no new photos, but I have several recent pictures of the Colorado fur babies that are too good not to share.)

Around the Edges

Inspirational song: Save It For Later (The English Beat)

I have been a champion procrastinator for a very, very long time. That's not generally something to be proud of, and this case is no exception. Today, the inertia that held me captive lost a round. It helped that one of my bonfire buddies came over and provided the catalyst to make things happen around here. I begged for help when I was at the last gathering, and I swore to her that I would have been happy if all she had done was sit in my living room with a beer, ordering me around, setting me on all the piles of household detritus that sat around so long I stopped even seeing them anymore. To my great surprise, my friend did so much more. She let me pretend that I was calling the shots, but more than anything, I was just trying to keep up with her, so I didn't feel like I was inferior to her cleaning and organizing skills. Together, we cleared out nearly everything that clogged the horizontal surfaces, things the professional service will not be touching next week. We even tackled things on my honey-do list, like un-sticking the ladder that the electrician left wedged in my garage attic access when they hooked up my tankless water heater. Thanks to her, my cold air return has a clean filter and grate, too. I couldn't do this alone, because the grate is right at the top of the stairs, with the hinges on the wrong side for easy access. If I had fallen off of whatever chair I would have climbed to reach it, and gone down the stairs, I can't guarantee anyone would have found us before my animals were forced to use me as food. Not the end I would choose for any of us.

It makes for such an attitude change, having all the edges opened out again. You just don't realize how much can stack on top of a dresser, or tucked into or on a little living room table. Clutter is so insidious. It sneaks up on you, when you don't notice it accumulating. Before you know it, it is overwhelming, to the point where you just look at a surface, and think, I really should sort that out. And if you are like me, you always add "later." Today, later finally arrived, and I feel so much better. I have a great sense of peace. And an immeasurable debt to my friend. I think she owns me now, for months to come.

Each step I take in this nesting cycle, preparing the house for my man's vacation, makes me feel that much closer to his arrival. This was a long time coming, and I had started to doubt that I would ever get here. I learned how to live alone, but that doesn't mean I want to do this all the time. In fact, if this ends up being the last time I have to do this, I would be totally happy about that. Something tells me there will be more trips like this lurking in the future. But I will worry about that later. Maybe I can find comfort in procrastination after all.

The Long War

Inspirational song: The Ballad of the Green Berets (Barry Sadler)

There is an endless struggle for supremacy at our Park. I didn't start this war. I don't really fight it. But it is up to me to maintain supply lines and regulate troop movements. And I have no compunctions about taunting the opposing forces at appropriate times. The little red-headed dog has decided that all squirrels should be eradicated off the face of the earth, and my melancholy baby swears to me that she should be allowed to remove all birds from the confines of the Park. He gets to go out on raiding missions, while she is stuck at a desk job. Literally. She sits on the vintage wooden school desk I bought for my daughter (and have yet to deliver), and stares out the front window, telling me what a great job she would do killing birds and lizards. Today there was outrage over a squirrel hanging upside down on the front feeder. How dare they come eat the sunflower seeds that I intentionally put out there for them and the birds to share? Somehow, the huntress doesn't understand when she is being mocked, when I agree with her, "You could! You could totally kill that small animal! You even might not lose an eye."

The red-headed dog is much more insistent that he be allowed to patrol the Park. I have never met a dog with more dedication. No matter the weather--extreme heat, cold, or rain--he would rather be outside keeping us squirrel-free than inside in the climate control, on a soft bed. Even now, not ten minutes after I called him in from the cold, wet dark, he is standing at my elbow, suggesting that he should be out on patrol. I would think that he is being a little bit of an alarmist, but I do see the birdfeeders swinging wildly every time I close the door behind him. I sort of wish I could construct a widow's walk on the roof, so that he could keep the little tree rats from up there. I hear scurrying and thumping an awful lot. I feel like I should open up the attic access and check to see whether they have infiltrated yet. I hope not. The dog doesn't seem overly concerned with the ceiling upstairs, so I still have hope that my insulation remains unmolested.

I need to spend some time outside over the next few days, when the rain is gone. I suppose I should be kind to my littlest warriors, and let them have time out in the fresh air while I rake leaves. Not that the birds or squirrels tend to come into the Park when I'm out there. My presence is a little like having the Death Star circling over the War of the Roses. They just assume I'm trouble, and I don't have to do anything but hover.

A Good Start

Inspirational song: Don't Worry, Be Happy (Bobby McFerrin)

Yesterday, I explained my big, silly, but tightly held superstition that my New Year's Eve sets the tone for the whole next year. I really do believe it is true, and after the last 24 hours, I want more than anything for it to hold for one more year. Not only did I have a whole lot of fun at last night's party, I have carried in my heart the most peaceful, joyous optimism that I have experienced in ages. I'm not sure whether there is one reason for all my hopefulness, or it's a stack of things. My heart is light, and I find myself smiling and singing and in a very happy place.

Last night really was wonderful. My friends seemed to feel it too. I wasn't the only one laughing and being lighthearted around the bonfire last night. There were some new faces there, and lots of old friends. Maybe it was a factor of the bottle of Asti that never left my hand, but if there was conflict, I was blissfully unaware. At the appropriate time, we all ran back inside, so we were packed in one room, watching the ball drop on television. With thirty seconds to go, my man called me, so we spent my favorite holiday together. I had plenty of friends with whom I could hug and kiss and exchange I-love-yous. What could have been a most depressing moment was instead uplifting and celebratory.

I was a little worried about my animals while I was gone. I had forgotten that fireworks are totally legal in this state, until a few days ago, when all the stands started showing up along the roads and in the discount store parking lots. While I was doing my hair and makeup for last night, my neighbors were signalling the mother ship from the street in front of my house. The animals are still a little needy and clingy today. As I drove to the party last night, I had trouble discerning whether the haze that covered most of my route was fog, smoke from other people having bonfires too, or that much smoke from fireworks swirling through the cold air. The night was never silent, not for a moment. Of the possibilities, I think the fireworks were the culprit. My hostess contributed to the noisy night herself, tossing a brick of old black cat fireworks into the bonfire. I amazed myself for staying close enough to take pictures. Maybe I'm getting braver for the next year too.

My emotional buoyancy has carried me through the entire day today. I reveled in the Rose Parade this morning like the flower child I am. I ate my traditional black eyed peas, ham, and cabbage (in lieu of collards, which I don't know how to cook well), as if it were the fanciest gourmet meal of all. I watched the Dream Home special, and was greatly amused when one of the designers gushed over a bright orange leather sample for his couch, calling it "modern mountain." It is almost an exact match to the orange vinyl my grandmother used to recover the antique recliner in her own mountain cabin, the one I now have in my piano room. I have resisted recovering it, because I find that orange so adorable and cheerful. Now I have a justification to keep it.

2014 is off to a good start. I want to protect this little seedling of hope and joy, and grow it all year long. I promise to share with anyone who wants some.