I’m feeling quite contented this morning. I was up early, at a normal early that is (see: not the wee hours), and have washed some of the windows and the dishes and my face, and have cleaned out the litter box. Jess just called and Torie and I are going to go over to my parents’ house to help him cut and stack wood so we can sell it for a little pocket money. They have gobs of wood over there, just lying fallow on the ground, not helping anybody. While I’m there I’ll look through several boxes of books I have stored in their vast garage, since there isn’t room in the Haven or our little mini-storage unit out back, and see if I can bear giving some up to the used bookstore in town. I want to stop by the library to pick up the two books that Fence recommended: The Beekeeper’s Apprentice, and A Monstrous Regiment of Women, both by Laurie R. King. I’m excited for a new novel or two. I have most definitely reached a different phase in my life – apparent for various reasons – one of which is that I am finding the short horror stories I’d loved so long and so well unsavory and in some cases, nakedly abhorrent. It’s a strange sensation. I’ve been reading May Sarton’s memoirs and have put a biography about her on hold at the liberry. Revisiting her every so often is such a joy. Her voice and outlook are interesting enough that I don’t get bored reading about her small daily routines at the age of 80.
So, today is full of small but meaningful tasks. Oh yes, and there’s the question of the prodigious number of beer bottles in the box out back, where they’re stashed when empty. Thankfully Oregon is a huge recycling state, and five cents deposit per bottle is kind of nice. That entire box should yield enough to get – whoa! – another bottle of beer, maybe two, but you know, whatever. I hate beer, anyway. Maybe I’ll buy a lip balm.
I was thinking today, while contemplating having to wash the outside of the windows and being mad at Scott for showing less interest in house and yard work than the typical flea, which actually enjoys being in the house and yard, that one of the reasons we tend to think people are lazy is that they’re simply not interested in the same things WE are interested in. It’s not that Scott won’t do housework when pressed; he cooks a lot and cleans up after himself for the most part, and he’s stopped simply walking by overflowing trash bags on his way out the door (where he’s parked next to the apartment dumpster), but he doesn’t think of that stuff. I do. Think of it. I hate housework, but I think of it, and I realize that part of that is cultural conditioning (a whole nuther topic) but that another part of it is that I’m in the house a whole hell of a lot more than he is and it’s important to me to have a peaceful and uncluttered environment. Anyway, my point is, I realized this morning that he’s not lazy because he hates that kind of work. He’s almost always moving, doing his own kind of work! I wish I’d realized that early on in our marriage, when we were constantly fighting over the yard. It’s nice living in an apartment now, where yard maintenance people come every week and do stuff like mow the moss on the back “lawn” and get up on our patio with leaf blowers and blow dead leaves into the corners where I can’t reach them. It’s awesome like that.
Time to get dressed now. Torie wants to stop by the stables too, to ask if they would let her volunteer there, doing anything, even mucking, chucking, and hucking – all the things that horses require. She’s having a very difficult time finding a job and figures volunteering somewhere she loves in the meantime might open a door. Oh, and did I mention that it’s absolutely gorgeous today, and it’s supposed to rain the rest of the week? So I’m taking advantage of it. Starting now. Have a great day, friends! Love! xo