I really just want to throw everything away.
Up to and including all of the family pictures. After about a year of exposure to anything you are pretty much completely immune to actually seeing it.
This goes for mold, as well as pictures. Boy. Does it.
If you ever plan on visiting me and are allergic to mold, bring your Epi-Pen!
Honestly, all I got done was the kitchen floor and the hallway which is sort of like an actual room in that it has actual furniture and a lot of crap in it. I mopped both of them twice and probably should have gone for a third time.
I'm just feeling so disgruntled and a bit ragey these days. Maybe I'm just going through an annual thing like the chickens who haven't laid an egg in a week. They're moulting and their feathers line the nests and floor of the henhouse to the point where it looks like a massacre occurred in there. The only hen I have laying is Miss Honey and she's not even my hen. Owen goes out to check the eggs and he opens the little doors that lead into the nests and he says, "Nope. Just poop." He's developed a code sound and hand gesture to indicate this. Where does he come up with these things? He puts his hands on either side of his face and hoots something which sounds a bit like Coo-Coo-Coo-Coo! That is code for no eggs, just poop. He wants to check the eggs by himself these days. "Stay back!" he commands me. He has to stand on a sturdy upturned log to get access to the doors and he wants to do it himself.
Fine with me. If this was the olden days, he'd be doing all the chicken care and probably making lye soap and tilling the lower forty by himself, too. As it is, I consider it a huge accomplishment if I can get him to put the blocks away.
Well, you know. That's my fault. I'm too easy and he knows it. I'm a joke at discipline and always have been. Thank god none of my kids needed too much of it. And if they did, I pretended they didn't and it's worked out okay if you ask me. I assume it will for Owen too.
It's Friday night. I am drinking a martini. I cleaned a little bit today. I live in a house which is over a hundred and fifty years old. I made a little porch altar.
This pleases me.
And my hallway altar.
A little handful of zinnias, my carving of the Guadalupe Goddess, my turtle shells, my sea glass from Cozumel. What you can't see is an Altoids tin with a few ashes of the body of my Lynn.
Well. Here we are. Friday night.