Posted tagged ‘guilt’

“It takes darkness to be aware of the light.”

November 12, 2016

As silly and as childish as it sounds, I want to shake Gracie and Maddie so they can’t sleep. They managed to keep waking me up last night. Gracie was snoring and Maddie was howling. Right now both of them are enjoying their morning naps. They are deeply asleep.  I’m tired.

The weather is consistent. Every day has been in the mid 40’s. Last night the wind howled, and, sure enough, my lawn is covered again. Today is still. It is as if the wind has worn itself out. Later in the week, it will get warmer, to the high 50’s, Indian summer weather.

I am finally getting tired of seeing the laundry bags by the cellar door. I add more wash every day so the bags are filled. It’s time to do the dreaded chore.

Some days I actually have the wherewithal to attack and complete the chore list, maybe because the list is small or maybe because I feel guilty about putting things off for so long. Nope, it isn’t guilt.

The dump is on our list for tomorrow. My trunk is getting filled and more trash bags are still to come. I have to clean the cat box  and add it to the trunk load. I’ll be very careful as last week the litter bag opened and the trunk was filled with the loose litter from the bag. My newspaper and catalogue recycle bags are heavy. Every day I get huge numbers of catalogues. I go through most of them in case something catches my eye though I haven’t much Christmas shopping left to do. I just like looking.

My deck is still open only because Skip, my factotum, hasn’t gotten here yet. I have called, but he hasn’t called me back even though his wife said she’d take of it. I’m thinking it is getting close to Christmas lights so he might as well do both at the same time. I always hate it when the deck is closed. It is the acknowledgement that summer and the warm days of fall have ended. The deck looks so deserted with most of the furniture and the two umbrellas covered. The Christmas lights, though, do brighten the deck and the yard. They keep me going until Little Christmas. That’s when the whole yard is winter: deserted, cold and dark.

 

“Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving.”

April 4, 2013

The sun is shining but it is not warm, a bit of a deception I think. The sky is deep blue and beautiful. Lots of birds are taking advantage of the free food at the feeders. There is even a waiting line.

Hunky dory was part of an answer in the crossword puzzle today. It got me thinking. I don’t remember the last time I even heard anyone say hunky dory which is too bad as it has a great sound when said out loud, and it is one of those phrases which defies description. It’s a context guess but a tough one. Answer everything is hunky dory and tone alone would have to give the clue.

I do the crossword puzzle every day, and I’m noticing that many of the answers seem too easy. Most of these are historical, but for me, they’re like yesterday as I lived through them. I can imagine a twenty or thirty someone sitting and mulling. In my day, they’d chew on the eraser and mull. Now, I guess they sit at the keyboard. I can’t believe that sitting at the keyboard gives the same sort of help that chewing an eraser did. I was able to fill in every square, and I also did the cryptogram in a short time this morning. I felt smart.

Rhetorical questions were the bane of my childhood. “What do you think you’re doing?” sounds like a legitimate question but giving an answer was talking back. It took me a while to sort that out. “Who do you think you are?” was another one of those questions to avoid. It was usually asked when I’d already done something wrong, something above my station. My mother was a master at the rhetorical question. As soon as she asked, “And who do you think is cleaning that up?” I headed to get the whisk broom and the dust pan.

My mother was also the queen of quilt. She got us every time. When she’d ask us to do something and we’d say in a minute, my mother went into her theatrics. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself,” she’d say oozing with self-pity and disappointment. We’d scurry to get done what she wanted. Sometimes, though, she’d add to the guilt by saying, “Too late. I’ll do it myself.” That was a heavy burden to carry, and she knew it. My mother was a master at her art.