August 31th, 2017
The doorbell rings, at 6 a.m. The bags, luggage did not come with them, is at the door. So am I. Greeting the delivery man, in, you guessed it my pink house coat. The guests, a young lady dressed in jeans and a t-shirt here to study Engineering, is from Morocco, accompanied by her aunt. You cannot say they were bag ladies. The house slumbers on, we hope, for a little while.
I am of course up to greet the day, after the normal internal chatter, “one more minute.’ It is dark, the sun gone, like the summer, no hint of days weather to come.
Mistakes are happening due to sleep deprivation. I am now officially incoherent in both official languages. The explanation that I had a rooms at all was I copied a reservation from July for people who had stayed here then. I cannot remember them at all. They answered their phone, as they were at home in the big grapefruit. I called them to find out when they were coming.
Guests I had marked in for another night, arrived, and showed me Golden Retriever pictures, theirs while they petted mine. WHO as the weather cools is up and at it, old girl style. Just like her human companion.
Dry to the point the grass looks like shredded wheat, thus one less thing to do, mow. However, sheets and towels are going thru the washer regularly. Toiling times this summer guests. The phone is an instrument that is used, along with of all the other communication devices. It rang at 2:58 am. I had forgotten to unplug. Area code 919. It was pitch-dark then too. I forgot to unplug the phone.
Late for me to bed, as I was waiting for a guest who never came, even tho I had called. She said she would be here in 30 minutes. I think she was an armchair traveler, never having left her living room. This is the second time this season this has happened. If they are savvy, they un-sanction their credit card before I can charge it.
Mom is here, quick to empty the dishwasher and re-set the table for me. This weekend a surprise concert and there is an expectation of 10,000 souls for that. (I think the city, with a well paid staff, is being shamed into organizing one for next year, this is a private promoter.) There was not supposed to be a musical interlude of such magnitude. It was not in the cards, but pushed into creation because mom is here I am sure. With my assurances that there “would not be a concert this summer.” She, 93 years old hopped on a plane.
We chased the chimney man by phone, making an appointment with another company for $50 more. The son of the deceased appeared at the door with his card. He is coming this morning to clear the flue. The windows need washing, and that mans phone is lost I think. The tree guy is not answering his phone either. (one down one to go then the stumps) Then there is the replacement windows panes that need doing. Something that was planned and completely forgotten about when the house had its inundation.
So we are forgetting more than we remember, and that seems to be the state of the nation. Dry to the point the grass looks like shredded wheat, thus one less thing to do, mow. However, sheets and towels are going thru the washer regularly. I learned the value of hard work by working hard. Margaret Mead & Moi &Lp