“Clutter is my natural habitat.”
The rain started around eleven last night, but it was a light rain. The dogs barely got wet on their last trip to the yard, but around 2:30, when I was lying in bed and had just turned out the light, the wind began howling, think freight train, and the rain was heavy and loud. That was my last conscious memory before Morpheus lulled me to sleep. This morning I didn’t wake up until almost 11, and it was still raining.
Yesterday, I was replacing the toilet paper roll when out of a back memory drawer jumped a flash memory from my childhood. I remembered my mother and her tissues. When we were in the car going someplace like my grandmother’s house, my mother would pull those tissues out of her handbag where they had been sitting at the bottom of the bag for God only knows how long. They were crumbled and sort of stuck together. My mother would spit on one then use only one finger covered in tissue to wipe our faces so we’d look presentable. I didn’t think it was gross. I was young.
My dance card is empty until next week. I do need a trip to the dump as my old, faithful TV is in the backseat waiting for a burial of sorts. It served me well.
Yesterday I was busy around the house, my least favorite way to spend any part of a day. I carried the garland, which had been across the mantle, to the kitchen. It dropped needles all the way from the living room to the backdoor, sort of a variation of Hansel and Gretel and the crumbs. After I’d thrown it out, I dusted the mantel, swept the floor, vacuumed and took down my snow decorations. I moved stuff around in the den though it is still cluttered.
Yesterday, Nala ran outside with a paper towel she had stolen from the recycle bag. I pretended to chase her and out the dog she went lickity-split. I went on the deck and watched her tear apart her treasure. It was then I noticed my upstairs bathroom basket, the one from Ghana, was on the driveway. I went to get it and, as I was picking it up, a brilliant idea, say I modestly, jumped into my head. I found a biggish rock, cleaned it and put it into the basket. It was heavy for me to carry upstairs so good luck, Nala.
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February 23, 2023 at 6:51 pm
Hi Kat,
Today was sunny but cooler with a high of 61° but with a blowing north wind.
My mother used to do the exact same thing with the tissues she carried in her handbag. I particularly remember that she probably had those tissues in there for weeks and they smelled of “Toilet water”. Not the water in the porcelain throne, but watered down perfume. To this day I don’t like the aroma of perfume. Most woman and some men douse themselves in the stuff. 🙁
Sometimes, the simplest ideas work best. Do you think she will first dump the rock from the basket and then steal whatever she finds?
February 23, 2023 at 8:53 pm
Hi Bob,
It stayed cold and raw most of the day. Every now and then it rained again. The cold is supposed to hang around. A big storm may be here next week, including the cape.
I also don’t like the smell of perfume. You must be traveling in different circles as I have noticed fewer women wear it. Most doctors’ offices don’t allow it.
She won’t be able to take the rock out or even lift the cloth basket as it is a good size rock. There is also nothing in it worth stealing. I think she likes the crinkling sound the basket makes. Its lining is made from sachets of water sold all over Ghana. Nala loves plastic water bottles, and they make a similar sound.
February 23, 2023 at 9:19 pm
I wonder if all mothers raised during the Great Depression went to the same institution of child rearing. 🙂
February 23, 2023 at 9:30 pm
I always thought it was from the handbook all mothers have been given since the dawn of time