Wednesday, August 25, 2010

This Funky Local Animals Thing Has Run Its Course
[I won't even mention the dog who almost killed me 2 different ways just this morning, except to say it involved a puddle at the top of the stairs and a later attempt to pull me over backwards on the concrete as I hooked up one of her little canine confreres to his run.  That is all.]

For the time being: No turkeys, no Asian carp, no turtles, no gators, no dogs.  Though any other non-human mammal that finds its way into our home might elicit a cathartic written response; after any screaming, spraying, clubbing and or trapping.  I never meant to start an animal lovers blog.  Or animal complaint blog.

There is a local civic holiday that I am allowed to take as a paid day off.  Because I would rather inspect the yard for dog 'castings'*  **  and the bathroom for black mold than sit in ninety-five degree unshaded heat to watch a parade and then loiter at the local park with tweens on the midway or my peers in the beer garden, I chose to celebrate today rather than three weeks ago.

Our townhouse is being refinanced and we were told to inspect the appraiser at 8:30 this evening - and this appraisal might even included an inside tour.  Quelle horreur!  Between wondering what dismal things that might be uncovered and worrying that some weirdness overflowing from the apartments next door would spill into the cul-de-sac (an dramatic drug bust, like the one that took place last week, isn't conducive to 'curb appeal'), I decided to cash in my holiday and flail about the house in a good faith attempt to prevent the appraiser from reporting us to DCFS, the ASPCA or Martha Stewart.  At this point, who cares about the bank?

Since I've lost a little sleep the past two nights, moving books around my room and disposing of old New Yorkers by making sure there was nothing left unread, I treated myself to a morning to sleep in.  Yes, the arthritis is worse, but the mind is soothed.  When I was awakened by the sound of a door bell I thought it was the alarm I set for 9:00am (that's only reasonable - I'm middle-aged lazy, not totally debauched).  I opened one eye to see that it was eight-thirty, Rick was changing out of his sweats and muttering a few low grade expletives related to who would ring the bell at 8:30 in the morning.

The truth is anyone could ring the bell early in the morning.  As I was getting dressed (dressed and presentable, make-up and earrings included, plus leaving behind the ubiquitous flip-flops)  to leave at seven a.m. to be the lector at seven-thirty Mass this past Sunday, the door bell rang.  And I looked out the window to see Rick leaving with my car.  To jump start a car for a stranger from the apartments.***  For a moment, I tried to close my eyes and remember the sacristy phone number so I could call and blurt out my  excuse in time for the priest to pluck a lector from the somnolent congregation.  But then the car reappeared.  Things do go smoothly on occasion.  So, when the bell rings its anybody's guess - which is still better than finding random people just walking right in.

Rick answered the door and I heard some muffled chatter under my window.  He reappeared shortly and explained that he had been misinformed.  The appraisal was at 8:30a.m.   And all done.  No inside. No Martha Stewart.  All holiday!!!!   Except for wrestling with the temptation to let some people think a judgmental stranger would be walking through the house this evening and to work accordingly.

Rick took me out to breakfast.  I did a few little things.  Fran told me not to scrub the suspicious mold on the bathroom ceiling -  she learned that much in her first microbiology class last night.  I'll whip some bleachy stuff to mist on it later.  But now it's a holiday.  There is a lovely breeze blowing through my window.  I'm curled up in my reading chair with The Neon Bible  (the book, not the CD).  Maybe I'll wander outside dogless to survey the mums that Franny planted yesterday.  A holiday indeed.

* a delicate term that I learned from reading the side of the bag of worm waste matter that has been outside my kitchen window for most of the summer.  [DON'T ASK.]  I can't wash dishes without looking at it.

** sorry, it will take a while for the anti-dog pledge to stick

***perhaps it is time to work on a sign for the front door listing services offered: jumpstarts, haircuts, babysitting, computer repair...

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