Ready for some good news? Me, too. I can try. I woke up this morning to the sound of the furnace. Outside, it was 61 degrees. We haven't had a temperature like that here in a very long time. It won't last, but the coming weather is going to feel more normal for this time of year. Dogs be frisky.
I got up yesterday morning to the messiest house I've ever lived in. Every horizontal surface was covered with something that needed to be elsewhere. By afternoon, however, the house was spic and span. I put on my big boy pants and got to work. It felt really good once it was done. I was energized, so I put on my gym shorts and gently exercised for about forty minutes. Then I went out and hooked up the hose with insecticide and sprayed the yard and perimeters of the house and apartment. Sorry kids, but it had to be done. Afterwards, I showered, of course, and went to the grocery store. When I got home mid-afternoon, I felt fine. Better than fine. I felt that I was finally on the road to recovery.
And I hadn't even had a drink.
I went to my mother's for dinner. We sat out with a cocktail first and neighbors stopped by. And stayed. And stayed, in serial succession. One would see the group and show up as another was leaving. It was all small talk and chit-chat, of course, and I was losing my mind. I was hungry and wanted dinner, but dinner wasn't coming very soon.
"You sure attract a crowd," my mother said. "You've made me popular."
She doesn't know how such things wear me out. But fine. It makes my mother happy. And so, the last person leaving, I headed into the house to start preparing dinner, but it was my mother's dinner and she took over. It was fine and good, and I stayed and chatted much later than normal. She whined when I said I was going.
I think there is never enough you can do for your old mom, do you?
But I wanted to get home to see if Amazon had delivered the promised faucet. It hadn't arrived before I left, but there it was parked on the front door stoop. Now you may not know this about me, but I am fairly negative about things turning out well. I was sure I would hate something about the faucet. Surely nothing would go well. But nope. . . I was surprised. It is not bad at all. Of course, I know it is my worry that holds things together and that if I stop worrying, everything indeed falls apart.
The plumber comes this afternoon. I suspect something will go wrong, that I will have bought the wrong disposal or faucet or that there will be a bigger problem. Of course. But. . . if. . . and I mean "if". . . perhaps this afternoon those troubles will be over.
Of course, once the faucet is on, I will dislike it. You'll hear all about that tomorrow. Or perhaps it will be the disposal. I will feel it is underpowered, maybe, that I should have gotten something stronger.
The maids come tomorrow. As it has been all along, Wednesday is my hope.
Next, I'm going to get the tenant to help me tackle the garage now that the weather is nice. She has junk taking up over half of the space. She is not my girlfriend any more, hasn't been in almost a decade. Still, unbeknownst to her, she has cost me things I miss most in life.
But that is a tale best left untold.
I have a wealth of pictures now. I've spent entire days sitting at the computer and cooking things I've never touched before. Street stuff. Big city stuff. . . and some country, too. They are not all great, of course, but as my hillbilly relatives like to proclaim, they are "good enough."
That should be the hillbilly anthem. "Good Enough."
That is about as exciting as my life gets right now. Prices are rising and shortages abound, but I am going nowhere and buying nothing. I feel I can be happy with beans and lentils and rice and vegetables. And for all the near death trouble one has brought me, I am dangerously close to buying another Vespa. If things will just keep rotting and breaking, I could live on very little money. I don't even want to buy cameras any more. I haven't bought clothes in a couple years other than some t-shirts and stretchy shorts. I do need a new pair of Tevas, but not much else.
Biden's in trouble, of course. He was championing the underdogs and giving them money as fast as he could while Rome burned. It's not that his heart was in the wrong place. He just couldn't keep his eye on the ball. He spoke of injustices to people whose houses were on fire. He reminds me of the Wizard of Oz when Toto pulls back the curtain.
"You're a very bad man," Dorothy exhorts.
Chastised, he responds, "No, my dear. I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad wizard."
Now I will stretch and take a long walk in the beautiful autumnal air, the light and the colors more than the eyes can bear. I am ready for a little less gloom and a little more relief. Hell, I may even be hoping for something akin to happy.