Posted tagged ‘chores’

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“My mom said the only reason men are alive is for lawn care and vehicle maintenance.”

May 30, 2015

On spring Saturday mornings, my neighborhood was filled with the sounds of fathers mowing lawns with their push mowers. All we could hear were whirrs and clicking sounds. After that came the scraping sounds of rakes. I always felt reassured in a way. The world was as it should be on a spring Saturday morning.

Today is a day much like yesterday. The morning air is cool and filled with sunlight. Some leaves on the backyard trees are in sun while others are caught in shadow. I keep going to the deck just to stand a while in the beauty of the day. While there, I’ve been watching the cardinal couple. They must have a nest nearby as they are always on one or another of the branches by my gate.

I scared a spawn this morning. It was on the back side of the feeder and neither one of us saw the other. When I was right at the rail, it leapt and I jumped.

My lawn is being mowed. The guy has one of those standing mowers which make so much noise. It took him all of five minutes to do my lawn. I can also hear other mowers and edgers being used around the neighborhood. The Saturday ritual continues but is different, noisier, much less personal, much less fun to hear.

When I was a kid, life was serendipitous and spontaneous. I had no obligations, no chores and no places to be. I never needed a list. Now I make lists. They’re my way to stay organized and push myself a bit as I love sloth days. This has been a busy week for me mostly doing errands so today is an around the house day. I have a few flowers to plant, a table to paint, a really small table, a few feeders to clean, the ones for the orioles and the hummingbirds, and my deck needs sweeping again. I have decided, though, not to put them on a list. That would make me obligated.

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“we’re all golden sunflowers inside.”

June 17, 2013

This morning I woke up early and had that strange burst of energy I get some mornings. I made my bed, put on a load of wash, took a shower and read both papers, all before 8 o’clock. I think that’s a new record for me.

When I was walking back from the drive-way with my paper, I noticed a catbird carrying a long, brown what looked like a frond from a daffodil in its mouth. He dropped it when I walked near and the frond caught on the top of the fence. I moved the frond to the grass. When I looked later, it was gone, and while I was standing at the door, the catbird flew by with another piece of brown grass in its beak. I watched to see where the bird was going. The nest is being built in my forsythia bush in the front garden. The bush is tall and thick and perfect for a nest. The bush needs trimming so I’ll have to catch my landscaper and have him leave it be for a while. I can live with a shaggy forsythia.

My Sunday breakfast is now my Monday breakfast. With the summer crowd, my place has a line out the door and down the parking lot on Sunday mornings but not on Mondays. This morning, after the hectic start to my day, I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with my friend, and it was a wonderful way to slow down to enjoy the day, a delightful day with blue skies and temperatures in the 70’s.

I have only one errand to do and a couple of chores. I’ll get to them later. There’s no hurry. I have the whole day!

I love sitting here in the coolness of my den. The only sounds I hear are the birds. They sing in stereo all around my house. The cats and the dog are napping and for once, Gracie isn’t snoring. Content is how I feel.

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“Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre.”

June 6, 2013

On Tuesday, of all my errands and chores, I only managed to buy the flowers. The rest of the list was put on hold for no reason except I didn’t want to do them, my favorite reason of all. Yesterday, though, was my most industrious day to date. I was the ant, not the grasshopper. I planted in all the deck boxes, pots and baskets, all 16 of them, and was quite creative in putting together the displays. There was one which was red, white and blue and another with beach grass and pink flowers with a sea creature on a stick added to each pot for decoration. I put the herbs in their window boxes: the thyme, rosemary and basil. When I’d finished planting, I was filthy and sweaty but yesterday was the perfect day to be working outside. It was cool and sunny so when I had finished with the pots and all, I sat outside for a bit just to enjoy the day. When I came back inside, I went upstairs. The cat boxes got changed as did the bed. My last upstairs chore was the badly needed shower after all that dirt. I sat and read for a bit downstairs then went out. Poor Gracie didn’t come as this is too warm a season for her to be left in the car. I sneaked to the dump, the pharmacy, the drop-in clinic, Staples and finally the plant store for a small tomato plant for the hanging thingee which hangs the tomato upside down. When I got home, I collapsed. I figure I don’t have to do anything else for at least a week!

In front of my house the other day was the truck belonging to the irrigation guy. Later that same day Peapod delivered my groceries. Today Roseana and Lee will be here to clean. I have Skip, my factotum, who is always only a phone call away. Here I am with more free time than I’ve ever had, but time I don’t want to squander on the mundane, on cleaning or shopping. I already resent my laundry, one of the few chores left to me. When I worked, I did everything on the weekends. I mowed the lawn, went grocery shopping, changed the bed, did my laundry and went to the dump every Sunday. Now I have people and more sloth days than anything. I figure I earned them.

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“Cock your hat – angles are attitudes.”

May 23, 2013

I wish it would rain. The day is cloudy and a dampness has given the house a bit of a chill so I’ve lowered the downstairs windows. Yesterday I did a few chores and a couple of errands. One stop was for cat food and clay flower pots at Agway. Tomorrow I’ll shop to fill the pots and also get herbs for the herb garden and the deck window boxes. Next week I’ll buy some front garden flowers. I noticed a few empty spots.

The spawns have found a new way to harass me. The tall bird feeder holder with the anti-squirrel baffle at the bottom had to be moved. The spawns were jumping from trees to get at the top of the pole where there are holders for four feeder stations, and the spawns have enjoyed dining at each one. When Skip came last week, I had him move the pole away from all the trees. Now the spawns are flying off the deck to the feeders. The problem, though, is getting off. There is no easy way so they sort of just fall unto the fence below the pole, the fence which is protecting my vegetable garden. The spawns knock over the posts and the wire gets bent down from the force of their bodies falling from so high. It has happened three times and I have fixed the fence three times. Now I have this dream of a hunter dressed in khaki, wearing a pith helmet, also khaki, sitting on my deck steps with an elephant gun in his hand just waiting for the spawns. I think I’ll have them mounted. Meanwhile, the feeders remain empty until I can figure out a solution.

The hunter’s pith helmet got me thinking about hats. When we were little kids, we had two main hats. One was for winter, a woolen hat with ear flaps and a pretty design, and the other was an Easter hat, usually a new one each year to match our dresses. The Easter hats had ribbons in blue, yellow or spring green, but it didn’t matter to me how pretty or flowery or filled with ribbons the hats were because I never liked hats. My mother, however, insisted I wear a hat when I walked to school on blustery cold winter days, but it never helped all that much to keep me warm. My head might have been fine, but my face was always freezing cold with bright red cheeks. Mittens were more essential. The Easter hat went into the closet and was pulled out only for Sundays.

I don’t wear hats any more. In the winter I sprint from the house to the car and back again when I get home. On Easter I wear one to my friends’ house: it’s a wide brim pink hat like those models during the 50’s wore. I don’t wear it to dinner when we go out though I might one year as a lark.

Maybe in my future is me as an eccentric old lady wearing a hat every place I go, even the dentist. I think I’ll start with the old faded red band hat with the plume. I’ll drop feathers everywhere I go.

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“You must pursue this investigation of Watergate even if it leads to the president. I’m innocent. You’ve got to believe I’m innocent. If you don’t, take my job.”

April 25, 2013

Yesterday was a stay home and do stuff day. All the chores I’ve been putting off got done. When I had finished, I wanted the feat extolled, but alas and alack, I celebrated alone.

Last night I went upstairs at ten, read until 11:30 and slept until 9. It was the sleep of the dead, a check with a mirror to see if she’s alive sort of sleep. Fern and Gracie were my companions, and they slept right in with me. They’re even back to sleep now. Only Maddie and I are awake.

The morning is cloudy. The paper said 61˚ and sunny to partly sunny for today’s weather. I’m not optimistic. Yesterday it was cloudy the whole day. I went outside and filled the feeders, including the suet feeders. Luckily it was fairly warm though damp from all the rain. Today the birds are enjoying a good breakfast. I watched while the coffee was dripping. The male goldfinches are beautiful. They hang onto the new suet feeders, and I have the best view from the kitchen window. A flicker dropped by, and my usuals are in and out. I noticed the deck needs a good cleaning. The birds are not circumspect as to where they leave their droppings. The rail is dappled.

Last week, I watched “All the President’s Men Revisited,” and I was riveted. I remember the summer when the Watergate hearings held my attention every day. I was wan and pale from staying inside watching TV. I read an article the other day which said that the memory of Watergate is fading. “For measuring distance, we in 2013 are now farther away from the events portrayed in “All the President’s Men” than the film “Bonnie and Clyde” was from the real Bonnie and Clyde.” That floored me. I remember everything. My favorite memory is when the committee first heard of the tapes. It was a wow moment for them and for me. I remember John Dean’s wife sitting behind him every day as he testified and helped unravel a presidency. The Saturday Night Massacre made Richardson and Ruckelshaus heroes to me.

I remember the Woodward book and the movie which is still one of my all time favorites. The scene at the Library Of Congress still awes me. Woodward and Bernstein are at a table going files that list all the books the White House had requested. The camera starts to rise until the men are just specks. I also love the noise of the typewriters and the phones in the Washington Post newsroom. The movie is a whodunit, and though I already knew the answer, I watched wide-eyed.

“All the President’s Men Revisited” was on Discovery and was one of the quickest two hours of television that I can remember. Toward the end of the program Ben Stein, who is shown in footage as a young staffer at Nixon’s farewell to his staff, said, “It’s really sad. I don’t think any president has been more persecuted than Nixon. I think he was a saint.” Then he broke down and cried. My first reaction was to think how ridiculous to cry over Nixon and call him a saint. We all know what he did. Later I was thinking about Stein and decided I was wrong to ridicule. Those are his memories, and he has every right to cry.

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” Perhaps I am a bear, or some hibernating animal underneath, for the instinct to be half asleep all winter is so strong in me.”

March 3, 2013

A dismal, dark day is becoming the norm. No change in the weather until Tuesday at the earliest. It’s cold: the temperature was 36˚ when I left for breakfast. I know March can be a raw, snowy month, but I’m hoping for something better. I saw a yellow bud in the garden this morning. I don’t know what flower it will be, but I was excited to see color. My clothes today are blue and grey. Even I am drab.

The feeders are empty, and I noticed the suet feeder must have fallen. I’ll have to bundle up to go out to refill the four feeders and rehang the suet.

I have new mice news. For nearly two weeks, none were in the trap upstairs so either they had become quite cagey (ha!) or there were no more. I chose to be optimistic and figured I’d relocated the whole population so I decided to move the trap to the cellar. Maddie loves to go down there, and I know there are mice in the cellar. When I had the two Siamese cats, they stayed in the cellar for hours. The death count was 17: 16 of theirs and one by drowning. Yesterday I checked the trap and I had caught my first cellar mouse. He is now living a mile and a half from here. I wish him well. This afternoon I will check the trap again.

This is the first winter I’ve ever hibernated. We don’t do trivia on Thursdays, and I haven’t seen a movie in a while. I don’t even grocery shop anymore. I wake up every morning and try to figure out the day and if I have anything on my calendar. When I do, I groan a little. I like being home reading and wearing my cozy clothes knowing I can nap should I so choose. I do other things like an occasional cleaning rampage, and the other day I organized the recipes I had snipped from newspapers and magazines. One of the folders I labeled Make These, and I will.

Sunday used to be my busiest and my least favorite day of the week. I’d empty the litter boxes, run the dishwasher, go to the dump, change my bed, do laundry and correct papers. I’d go to bed early as I used to get up at 5 or 5:15.

Looking at that old list of my Sunday chores gives me a bit of a chuckle. Now it takes me three or four days to accomplish the same tasks. I’m no hurry.

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“Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.”

February 26, 2013

Gracie is my barometer. She has been in and out all morning so I know it’s warm outside. When she first went out, I watched her run the perimeter of the yard at top speed. When she came inside, she was panting and had the usual amount of spit on her face. I also have the front door open for her. She loves to sit there for hours and look outside. My street, though, is so very small I can’t imagine what holds her attention except in the late afternoon when people walk their dogs by the house. That sends Gracie into a frenzy of barking and jumping at the door. She is not a lover of dogs unless she can meet them on her own terms: face to face with plenty of sniff time and no human interference.

Today is another I have nothing on my list to do day. Yesterday I finished all my chores and also swept and wet mopped the kitchen floor. I have no idea what compels me to do these household chores. I just know that every now and then I get the cleaning bug, a virus for which I wish there was a cure.

My mother didn’t work outside the house when we were kids. She spent the day at home doing laundry and cleaning. I know I always had clean clothes, my bed was made every day, the rug in the living room was vacuumed, my blouses and skirts were ironed and the dust was gone, but I seldom saw her cleaning. It was almost like the shoemaker and the elves, but it was really because my mother did it all when we were in school. The only thing I did see was my mother making dinner every night. In my mind’s eye, I can see her at the kitchen sink, her back to the door, as she peeled potatoes, cut them up and put them on to cook. The stove was behind her to the left on the wall opposite the sink. It was white. All the appliances were white back then. Harvest gold and avocado hadn’t yet made an appearance. The kitchen was small with very little counter space. The fridge was beside the sink with a small counter in between them. That’s where my mother kept her dish rack with a rubber mat underneath. The mat was opened at one end so the water from the dishes went back into the sink. My mother believed in air drying dishes. I do too.

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“I’d like to be tidy, said Hen, I try, but I guess you can’t be what you aren’t.”

October 8, 2012

I woke up to a blue sky and a sunny morning. It was late, as late as I’ve slept in for a long time, but I didn’t go to bed until close to three. It was just one of those nights when Hypnos and Morpheus were elsewhere. I didn’t mind. I kept busy.

It’s a stay home day with lots to do around the house. I have to pay the bills, a drudgery I hate, and I need to take the screens off both doors and replace them with glass as the back door stays open so Gracie can come and go, but it was really chilly last night so I eventually had to close that door. Gracie, of course, then wanted out over and over again. She rang her bells and kept ringing them until I got up. Sometimes she didn’t even go out. The rest of my chore list includes changing the litter boxes, watering the plants and doing the laundry. It’s a long list, and somewhere in there I’d like to fit in a nap, maybe I can put off the laundry.

It rained most of last night. I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, and I could hear the rain on the roof. It wasn’t a heavy rain, but it was a steady rain.

Last night, with all that time on my hands, I went into my memory drawers and thought about when I was in grammar school. I remembered my first couple of grades when we had desks which probably dated from the opening of the school in 1910. The desks were wooden and were attached to the floor by screws through the bottoms of their metal legs. The chairs were also wooden but had metal parts which ended in circles flush with the floor and these were either screwed or nailed into the floor so they didn’t move either. We had trouble finding our books which were stored inside those desks. We had to bend over to look and sometimes we’d have to pull out a book or two before we’d find the right one. On the top of the desks were the grooves for our pencils. We didn’t use pens in the early grades. On the floor, below the chair, was where we’d put our lunch boxes. Our jackets were always in the cloak room.

When we got older, our rooms had newer desks. Those desks were also wooden, a blond wood, but the tops lifted and we could see everything kept inside but then so could the nuns. They weren’t happy with messy desks, with desks filled with crumpled papers or pointless pencils, so we had periodic clean our desk afternoons, usually late on Fridays when the nun had probably already lost our attention. One boy would slowly walk up the aisles holding the basket, and he’d stop at each pair of desks to give us time to throw everything away. The basket would get filled so the basket boy would have to take it to the basement to the trash barrels then he’d come back and do it all over again: up an aisle and stop, up an aisle and stop then back to the basement. I always wanted to be the basket person who got to leave the room, and I’d raise my hand and wiggle it in the air hoping to be chosen, but the nuns never chose me or any other girl. It was not a fit job for a  young lady.

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