Spic ‘n span

When I get the urge to clean my house, it’s always a Saturday. Most of my friends, I’ve gathered, use housework to avoid their real work, and thus have at it mid-week. I’m so far beyond this in the procrastination sweepstakes, I don’t need to clean in order to feel like I’ve accomplished something in a day. If I make a pot of coffee, get my kid out the door, and read the TLS, I can count it a day well spent. Anguished guilt kicks in at 4am, but we’re not talking about that now.

So Eila and I dusted, scrubbed the sinks, did the semi-annual vacuum, and tidied: and the greatest of these is tidying. Everything’s back in it’s place and for things that didn’t have a place, a place was created. Either that or they were ruthlessly pruned from our lives, which means placed in the “garage sale” box that I will probably never look at again. It was one of the most beautiful days of the summer, but we’ve had so many beautiful days this summer we could afford to throw one away on the house. We’re tired of the beach. Isn’t that decadent? But we did go down to the water to watch the sun set this evening.  Other families showed up too, most of them with glasses of wine.  Labour Day.

This afternoon Eila was yelling for me as usual. I said, “you have to learn to deal with this yourself.” She said, in her talking-to-an-idiot voice, “I am dealing with it by yelling.”

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