Monday, May 19, 2014

Sunday Night Grab Bag

When I'm feeling out of control, I clean the bathroom.   It's so small, and when I'm done, I know that if nothing else, I can make 36 square feet fall into line.  I'm not sure if this is a good illusion or not.  A few things about cleaning the bathroom:

1.  White bathrooms looks AMAZING in magazines and blogs.  What you find out in real life after you've chosen white tile, white beadboard, a white sink, a white tub, and white trim is that white shows off dirt like it's in 4H, and instead of a raising goats, it's raising hairballs.

It's a lot of white, right?  Still better than the before...

2.  The hair!  Why do I shed?  When we get rid of our dog, I will rejoice that her hair shall
go with her, so this leads me to wonder, should we get rid of me?  Seriously.  Hair is disgusting.  I don't know why.  Especially since it's my own.  But, gag.  (I haven't mentioned Maggie's imminent departure yet, but it is a good thing for all parties.)

3.  The toilet.  Someone has to do it.  But who really ever wants to clean the toilet?  Anybody?  Confess if you do.  We need to know you and learn from your Gandhi like peace-ability toward the world's most awful thing to clean.

Tonight I checked my phone after being out of town for the day, and the little screen bleeped at me that I had 8 voicemails.  "You have 8 voicemails," but what it really was saying was, "You irresponsible person; why do you even have a phone?" This is the problem.  I let my voicemails pile up until they reach a ridiculous number like 8, and then it seems much too overwhelming to ever check my voicemail again.  It is one of those things that should not be hard, but IT. IS. HARD.  Do people that like to clean the toilet also check their voicemails as they receive them?  I have a lot to learn from these people.

We made a day trip with my parents today to see my grandparents.  They are both nearing ninety and still living on their own with a lot of wit and energy.  Grandpa let me dig up some of their irises, and he has no idea what a precious thing that is to me. I love to garden, and I love the thought of tending these flowers that they planted 30 years ago, coaxing them to new life in another state, another yard, showing them to Anna one day and telling her their story.  Grandma told me some great tales of her youth, and I am turning them over in my head as I think about the complexity of our lives and how I yearn for more simplicity.  She grew up on a farm in Kansas, and they ate with the harvests of the seasons.  She made handkerchiefs out of old sugar bags and had one Sunday dress.  I think there is a post in me soon about the journey I've been on lately to simplify and reduce.

The Great Earache of 2014 is coming to a close.  I slandered the antibiotic too soon, for I think it is finally doing its thing.  A week ahead of health is a great thought.  To health!  And toilets!  And voicemails!  (Just rejoicing in it all.)

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