I Seem To Be Thinking About Bathrooms

I went on another walk this morning. It was overcast so it wasn't quite as miserable as it is when the sun is beating down like someone left the broiler element on. It was still hot though and mighty humid and I've been sticky ever since. I probably should have taken a shower when I got home but knowing I wasn't going to see anyone today, I decided that I'd just wait for my before bed shower. I walked a little farther today and a little faster, too, which did feel good. I know I am moving more easily than I was two months ago. 

Those morning glories are growing in a neighbor's yard and I do admire them. However, it's easy to see that they're taking over her yard, bit by bit, and I definitely do not need to introduce one more invasive plant here. But they really are stunning and I will happily admire hers. 

Doesn't it look like the flower has a power source inside it, radiating light from the center? The colors are some of my favorites.

I truly do not have much to talk about today. The most productive thing I did was to iron, which I was inspired to do by Boud's post today. Also, I did not want to do anything outside after I finally cooled off from my walk. But I had not done any ironing in quite awhile so I got out the ironing board and hit the closet where I keep the ironed and the un-ironed, delineated from each other by my grandfather's cane which I hang from the rail with ironed things to the right and wrinkly things to the left. This works pretty well. There are far more things to the left of the cane than to the right and Glen probably needs to get rid of a lot of those shirts, which is mostly what's there. Many of them have outlived their use except as work shirts and I am not ironing a damn work shirt. No way. And he would never expect me to. 
I occasionally have something of mine to iron in that mess of clothes and have left dresses and shirts there so long that when I did find them, I'd forgotten I had them. Or, in the case of a dress I just recently found, I truly thought I'd left it in a hotel on our way home from NC last year. It had been hanging so long that it didn't need ironing so there's that. 

Anyway, today I ironed long enough to watch an entire movie and the movie I watched was "The Unexpected Pilgrimage of Harold Fry" which I had been wanting to see. So that made the ironing less of a chore and more of a pleasure. I thought they did a good job of following the book although there was an entire storyline that had been written out but it worked without it pretty well. If you hadn't read the book, you wouldn't ever know. The acting was, in my opinion, very fine, the writing well done, the scenery terrific. And in the time it took me watch it I ironed eight shirts and a dress. 
I remember my mother's "maid" ironing in front of the TV, watching her soaps. I believe this was a fairly common practice. The women hired to clean the house were also expected to do the laundry, strip the beds, remake them, and iron the clothes. 
And this was normal. Of course all the "maids" were Black women because that is how it was. And my mother depended on these women so much. We had one woman who worked for us who finally moved on for one reason or another and I can remember my mother saying she didn't even know where the broom was when she left. 
I believe it too. And we were far from rich. Not even in the slightest bit close to well to do. But when "The Help" came out, I didn't even have the desire to read it. I lived it, albeit from the privileged white side and I never felt comfortable with the arrangement, even as a small child, and I have no idea why. 
I have since read the book and it's a good one but there are problems with it, just as there are always problems when it comes to race and roles, history and societal mores, stereotypes and cruelties. 
And so forth.
One thing the book did make me realize was that the very plain and basic bathroom built out of raw pine, located in the back of the garage, was most likely built for the help to use. Although it seems unbelievable now, Black maids were surely fit to clean the white folks' bathrooms but not to use them. As my old friend David used to say, "I shit you not."
Which is not inappropriate in this case.
Ironically, that bathroom was the only place in the house I felt relatively safe as it had a sturdy hook and eye latch. We lived in that house during the apex of the stepfather's abuse and I spent a lot of time in there. Or at least as much as I could without being viewed suspiciously. 

What the HELL was I talking about? Oh yeah. Ironing while watching TV. I do believe that is a long-time tradition for almost anyone who has ever done a lot of ironing. 

I took the trash to the dump place today. No stories from there for me to relay. 

Mr. Moon sent a picture of the cabin's upstairs bathroom floor which he redid today. 

That's a vinyl laminate material which does indeed look like wood and Glen apologized for "more wood" but as he pointed out, it's better than the carpet which was in there and he also already had it, leftover from when he redid the floors in the duplex we own where Hank and Rachel live now. 

I think it looks very good. The rest of that bathroom can remain as it is. It ain't fancy but it'll do. 

I've been looking at bathrooms online to try and figure out what we should do with the bathroom downstairs which is off of our bedroom and it's not helping me. I have absolutely no ability to visualize things like that. I have a lot of ideas about things I do not want- hideous vanities, sinks, light fixtures and the color beige for example. 

I saved one picture and I don't even remember where it came from, but I do like the color of the tile in the shower.

Have I already posted this? Sorry, if I have. 

One more picture.

I took this on my walk too. I always think of these lilies as "ditch lilies" and my plant ID app tells me that is indeed their common name. Rather an unflattering name for such a beautiful blossom although they do grow in ditches. 

I think that Magnolia is going to spend the night tomorrow as her beloved Boppy is supposed to be home by then. There will be fun. There will be games. 
There will be a nine-year old girl sleeping with me. 

Love...Ms. Moon