Posted tagged ‘cleaning house’

“My wife is always trying to get rid of me. The other day she told me to put the garbage out. I said to her I already did. She told me to go and keep an eye on it.”

August 25, 2014

This morning I was awake far earlier than usual, at 6:30. I went on the deck and filled the bird feeders then stayed there to read my papers and drink my coffee. I find early mornings have the most glorious smells and sounds. The air is crisp and clean and scented with flowers and newly mowed grass. Birds sing and I can hear the flapping of their wings as they fly in and out of the feeders. The coffee this morning was hot and strong. I had a second cup then I left to meet my friend for our Monday morning breakfast.

I don’t remember watching my mother clean the house. During the school year she did it while we were gone. During the summers we were never around the house to watch her. Only my two little sisters were and they were mostly in the backyard, not yet being old enough to wander. I’d leave for school, and when I got home, my bed was made. I’d put my clothes in the hamper and they’d reappear cleaned and folded. It was a bit like the elves and the shoemaker. The dish strainer usually had clean dishes sitting in it to dry. We were to rinse any glasses or dishes we used and leave them in the sink. My father went crazy if we didn’t rinse out our glasses. He’d yell if he found a dirty glass on the counter. He called it the height of laziness. I thought he was underestimating how lazy we could get, but I knew better than to mention it. No one ever owned up to the dirty glass. That would have been foolish.

Except for my brother we never had any chores growing up. His was to empty the kitchen basket into the outside barrel. Trash was traditionally a male chore. Once in a while my mother would ask me to empty the garbage. She had a triangular plastic garbage holder in the corner of her sink. I’d take it outside touching as little of it as possible, use my foot to open the metal cover of the in-ground garbage bin then I’d dump the garbage and bang the container on the corner of the bin to make sure it was empty. The garbage always had maggots. I’d watch them for a while. Garbage grossed me out but maggots never did. I never thought that strange. Maggots were interesting while garbage just plain smelled bad.

“There is no old age. There is, as there always was, just you.”

January 17, 2014

Today will reach 45˚ and tonight we’ll have snow showers. It’s no wonder people go stir crazy in winter. Mother Nature gives us this lovely day with sun and blue skies then whacks us with snow while we’re sleeping. Tomorrow may rain or it may snow. The day sounds ugly. I suppose I shouldn’t expect much as the Spring Equinox is a long way off, March 20 at 12:57 P.M, which means more of winter is ahead than behind. The only consolation is every day gets a bit longer.

Gracie and I may go out riding today. We were in all day yesterday. I read, and Gracie napped and snored. The cats too napped but that’s what they usually do. I paid my bills. The bed got made and the house got cleaned. It was a productive day.

I am long passed needing to accomplish anything on a given day. It just so happened yesterday. I think I polished the furniture one day last week, but I’ll have to check my diary to see, as if…I do need to water the plants. I’ll have to work up to that task.

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to be a teenager, and when I was teenager, I couldn’t wait to be twenty-one, legal to drink and to vote, an interesting combination. Thirty struck me hard. I was part of the, “Never trust anyone over thirty,” generation, and we were all there or even beyond it. I didn’t mind being forty. It was just a number, but fifty threw me for a loop. I was half a hundred, half a century old. There was no other way to think of it. I retired at fifty-seven, a lucky number just because of circumstances. For my sixtieth birthday my sisters and I took a tour of Fenway, went out to dinner then to a Sox game. It was a perfect celebration. All of my friends and I are now on the backside of sixty. One of my friends will be sixty-nine this year. That boggles my mind. How can that be?


%d bloggers like this: