September 05, 2017
Labour Day weekend. Concert done, check. Onward! Ahead, more of the same, up and at it, once again. I forgot to set the time piece that gets you up and at it again. Belated and bleary, before I have had a chance and the day starts. I have PHD ! piled higher and deeper, pots, pans, and other accouterments. From the preparation of dinner are right where I left them, weary I was, and left them INN the sink. The cookware and pan fairy has NOT condescended to call in thru the night. Exuberance ensues. I chuck willy nilly sauce pots, pasta pans, and mixed and motley plastic things, into the dishwasher. I am too bleary-eyed and not one for thinking straight at the best of times. I am on auto polite. (we hope) I push way tooooooo many buttons, heave in last minute thing or two, killing the dishwasher dead.
I start to travel rapidly, and several times for different intervals to the fuse box Justified in my thinking, not too clearly, that unplugging anything for 10 seconds, is a good thing. NONE of these ministrations work. (But I will work that is assured.) The dishwasher just sits there, stoically. The opposite of MOI.
I am behind schedule, the guests turn up for breakfast. None of the guests is aware of the crisis and what is worse they do not care. There is a guest who wants to talk politics while I trying to read the current ( I have several it seems) dishwasher manual. The increase in minimum wage hike in another province. The repast is pathetic, the bare minimum. The fruit salad is purple from yesterday cherries. Ladies and gentlemen, the French toast makes it to the table!
While reading, washing and chatting, and frantically I might add. I call the succeeding generation of repair guys. I have had my “flirty man” retire, my stone mason step down, and my chimney man expire. The son of Flirty man, is on a holiday, “out of town” the answering service says. The dishes and the pots and pans have been done by hand. I called for cleaning back up. She might not make it and when she does, she is in an atrocious temper. I have been since July the 3rd. We tussle about how to clean the shower.
In the middle of all this, jolly and happy a call comes to ask if mom can return. Mom is up country for the concert. Flat out NO to that, and there were guests in her room. Tomorrow is a better day I tell them. I am hoping.
I call an individual who, if you are daily diatribe addicts, I wrote about getting the gum out of the machine, that mom had left on her plate and transferred that to the machine, a year ago. They agree to look at it. In the meantime, in between washing dishes, I sneak over to the feral cats, feed them, appointed to that duty while the neighbors are in Italy. (sending back sunny villa pictures and having such great fun, bah) Without the dog, it is faster. Time is of the essence and as there is never enough of it I hustle across the street. On the poach is neutral ground, having had a cat of her own, OFF the porch she if sees the cats she chases them, Lucy thinks this is great fun. She is in good humour, I am not, thus on this morning, she is left behind.
The phone rings, I have remembered to plug it back inn, a call back, their car has died. They need deliverance. A boost is needed and not of enthusiasm. Over I go, a brisk drive with the dog in tow, that would be her walk. Back and forth. He holds down a button which says 3 seconds on the machine and it roars to life. The dishes are already done. His car now in my driveway turns over, all is well with the world.
I unplug and have a two hour nap. From Facebook post: “Things I have in common with a raccoon. Dark circles around the eyes, eats junk, cute, a little chubby, I will fight you, possibly rabid.” Lucy loves her spaghetti wants to be fed, smoked meat spaghetti sauce here we come. Moi & Miss Lucy P