The Daily Grind

Its been a while since I posted. In fact, its been, what, three or four years since I posted with any regularity.

Life gets in the way. It seems like things should be less complicated these days. I am no longer working. Our kids are all launched; Mary headed off to university this spring, and, although she's home for the summer, she's working. So that part of our life is in the past. (I can't say, "Over." It hurts too much.) I am back to the original role I had in this marriage; that of housewife. I manage the house, and the yard, but, other than that, my time is my own.

So it seems that I should be living what my mom called the "life of Reilly"; lazing around in a spotless home, enjoying bon bons and shopping.

But, no. I have lots to keep me busy. I took on extra animals this year; we have probably 100 various chickens and turkeys, 4 sheep, 4 goats, a horse, and 6 pigs. Oh, and 2 dogs, and 3 cats. This summer we sent Henry off to live with his boy, but I picked up a Border collie puppy. Molly is 3 months old now, and, little does she know, will be my sheep-moving companion at some future point.

So the feeding and cleaning are endless. Then there's the mowing. We had a tremendously wet spring, which meant the lawn was not an issue until sometime in late May. Not that it didn't need cutting; it did, desperately. Bt it just couldn't happen. I even tried staining the deck; couldn't get 4 dry days in a row from mid-April until the end of July!

The house needs care, too. Beyond the daily cleaning, groceries, and laundry, we haven't done anything to this house in 18 years. So, this spring, we decided to redecorate the. Whole. Thing. We're starting with the basement, and my May and June have been spent packing up all of our stuff and taking it to a storage locker. We're doing ceilings to floors, and I just didn't want stuff in the way. Sadly, no work has yet begun, although we're supposed to be unloading that storage locker Labor Day weekend! With all the animal and yard stuff, the packing has not been finished. Packing is further complicated by decluttering; I'm getting rid of things we no longer need/want.

And we still have family to care for and about. My dad likes to get together for meals 3 times a week. You'd think that would be easy; you gotta eat, right? But logistics are never simple, are they? Grandchildren come to visit, kids come back in and out from time to time. Keri's nieces have been visiting her from California this summer; time was spent with them.

In short, this "retired from parenting and working" life is NOT retiring, in the sense of less work and responsibility. The "life of Reilly" is probably unattainable. But its keeping me young and fit and out of trouble. I guess the world should be glad for that last bit!

So, at the risk of being like this guy...

I received two posts from Facebook friends today. The first said this;

If your church doesn't have an Ascension Day service, ask your pastor why. If your church has one and you don't attend, ask yourself why.

The second was much longer, and can be found here.

Two posts, both purporting to be Christian messages, both so full of hate and judgement that I worried on them for a couple of hours.

I can't do that anymore. It seems Facebook posts swing from one side of a pendulum to another. There's no socializing on the social network; its all what I call skunking; spray your stink on someone, then stand back and watch what you actions produce.

I appreciate my friends, but I am deactivating my Facebook account. Goodbye, and thanks for all the fish.

A Night To Remember

No, not that one.

After writing an admittedly dull and commonplace entry last week, I was casting around for something a bit more interesting. How about a discussion of the little goats in the garage (yes, the garage) and their feeding habits? How about a forward look at plans for the vegetable garden?

Then Mother Nature threw a subject in front of me. Literally threw it.

Thursday, April 9 started out reasonably normally for northern Illinois. It was muggy. I told some friends on Facebook that, as I cleaned out a flowerbed, it felt like gardening on the seashore. I could even smell the ocean. It was in the mid-60s, having been only in the 40s the day before. Weird weather. A storm was predicted for the end of the day; it was shaping up to be a big one.

That evening, as John and I sat over the last bit of dinner, our phone alarms went off. That happens from time to time; usually warnings about heavy rain or snowfall, maybe a tornado watch. This was a warning, and it said, "Seek shelter now." Maybe you've seen this, which helps tell the difference.

In any case, that warning was unusual. So, being good, obedient folk, we...went out onto our deck. We wanted to see what was going on. It was dusk, and very dark from the storm rolling in, so it was difficult to see. But I suspected, from the amount of lightning, and the shape of the clouds, and the sound of continually rolling thunder, that the tornado which had been on the ground some 50 miles south of us was making its way thorough. John thought I was being silly; he thought it was just a really bad thunderstorm. Nevertheless, we spent some time in that basement that night. Power was out for about an hour, and water seeped into our basement. Our son and his wife, who have no basement, showed up at our door. We even let Mary's dog up onto the sofa; I had found her cowering in the far back of our basement, and wanted her to feel safe.

The storm passed, and we went to bed. High winds continued through the night, and it got pretty cold.
As is typical after a terrible storm, morning came clear, and fair.

In the morning, after chores, I walked around the yard a bit, looking for any damage. I found some. We lost a dead tree, and the tops of two others. A piece of the roof of our horse shed has disappeared, along with a large piece of the roof of the kids' old treehouse. I would share photos, but the cable from my camera has gone missing, and photos are trapped in my camera!
I headed into the house, and grabbed a cup of coffee. Looking out the back window, I saw a piece of debris I'd missed. Thinking it was just a piece of board, I headed out anyway, to pick it up. I found a memory.

This painting had a name on the back, and the note "1st period." I could tell it was a school project, and figured it blew in from somewhere. I was afraid it had blown in from someone's destroyed house. John, ever calm, said it was probably just garbage day somewhere, and it had blown out of the trash. I posted the picture on Facebook and my sister found a man with that name living in Rochelle, a small town about 35 miles from us, as the crow (or tornado) flies. (Although it would seem this tornado did not fly like a crow, moving back and forth in its path. But, I digress.)
Rochelle and a neighboring town, Fairdale, received the brunt of the storm. Two ladies were killed in Fairdale, which, essentially, doesn't exist anymore. Rochelle was also hit hard, although full reports on damage are not yet complete for either town. Its been a sobering end to the week.
I looked him up and found his place of business. I called and left a message. Minutes later, he texted me. With some deletions for privacy, this is how our conversation went.

I've been told I should contact news outlets about this, my little brush with fame. Its just as much fun to look at this little painting sitting in my dining room, and think about the trip it had. At least 35 miles, not including rotation, before it fell here. It has a bit of damage, and was waterlogged, but its in essentially one piece. I do think it would be fun to meet up with Matt for a coffee, give it back, and talk about the storm. I may find myself down that way, helping with cleanup, too. We shall see.
I do know that I'll be more respectful in the future of those warning notices on my phone. I'll head to the basement sooner, watch more carefully, and keep emergency supplies stocked downstairs. (We already did that, in case you wonder.)
I should ask him, too, if he's missing a special edition copy of Star Wars. It showed up about a mile north of us, in the yard of a friend of Mary's.

It's A Miracle!

We're having a loaves and fishes experience here. Or Ezekiel has stopped by.

We buy our laying chickens' feed from a local feed store. I took in a recipe for chicken feed, and he grinds it for me to order, when I need it. I have to buy 500 pounds at a time. So I plan carefully, watch my supply, and go visit Eddie at the feed store, as needed.

About three weeks ago, I noticed we were getting low. I called Eddie and ordered chicken feed. At the same time, we were low on pig feed. He also mixes this for me, so I ordered 500 pounds of that, too.

A couple of days later, before I could pick up the feed, I opened a can in my chicken house and found it full. This puzzled me, as I hadn't seen it full before. "Oh, well," I thought. "Middle-aged brain, I must have made a mistake." Because our feed cans were full, I called Eddie and told him I would pick up my chicken feed later, but that I still needed the pig feed.

A week after we picked up the pig feed, I went out to feed the chickens and found a bare minimum of feed in the can. That made sense; it had been about two weeks since I saw that full can. I distinctly remember carrying that can into the chicken house so that I could dump every last smackeral into the chicken feeder.

Yesterday, I picked up that 500 pounds of feed. I brought it home, and commenced my weight-lifting routine. One 50-pound bag to the chicken shed, dump it into a can, rinse and repeat. But, this time, I opened the empty can...and it was half full. What? That can, I am sure, was empty last week. I remember carrying it into the chicken house, right?

You don't suppose there's Someone Really Important visiting somewhere around here...

Saturday Farm Report

Some years ago, we decided to add some chicken housing. We built 4 huts from plywood and a pressed asphalt roofing called Ondura, and have used those to brood chicks and raise meat birds. The huts have survived much like you'd expect something built pretty cheaply and simply, but they're still functional. The roofs, however, had developed many leaks and were not serving their purpose anymore.

We decided to replace the Ondura with steel roofing. It turned out to be lighter in weight, which was a plus, since those roofs are hinged at the higher end, and we lift them to feed and water the birds. Does wonders for the muscles, but can be difficult, sometimes. The lighter-weight roofing material was also nicer looking, and should be longer-lasting.
But...You KNEW there had to be a "but," right?
The chickens, when things are working correctly, breathe. They breathe hot little puffs of moisture-laden breath into the hut. The metal roofs gets warm. The cool night air, especially in fall, condenses. The condensation

drips into the chickens' litter. The condensation, along with other liquids the chickens produce, made their fluffy, pine-shaving litter into a nasty-smelling, soupy mess. We went looking for some kind of insulation for the roof, and we found these.

4'x8' sheets of foil-backed foam board insulation. (I get no compensation from the manufacturer, even though I kindly included their logo and name in this photo. That's how I roll.) We had some other foam board, which was given to us, that would have been a smart way to go. Cheaper, or free, is smarter, right? But that foil backing, serving as a vapor barrier, clinched it for us. The project began.
There was measuring. There was marking. There was cutting. There was gluing. I condensed that process into this short little paragraph, because I realize this is getting, well, dull.
In the end, we had messy gloves

But the insulation was installed. (Here's a picture of one half of a roof done, so you can see, well, how it was done.)

And one finished roof.

So now, the chickens have soft, fluffy, better-smelling litter again.

Well, they DID. They yucked it up again, after only a couple of days. but, that's OK. They're leaving tomorrow, talking a trailer ride to Freezer Camp. Yes, I called it that.

Blog Down, Blog Down!

Its sad when I go to visit a blog and find it hasn't been updated in a while. But I've been there. I know how life works, sometimes, and I expect bloggers to take a break.

Today, however, I went to check in on a distant friend, and found her blog is GONE. She has taken it down. Silly me, I should have recorded some contact information, but I did not. So it appears I will lose touch with this one. And that makes me sad.

Unless, New Girl, you read this and let me know where you are! I know Vivi is keeping you busy, so just shout is fine. No need for a long, rambling anything.

Thanks!

Wonder of Wonders!

Two posts in three days! Wonder of wonders! Which reminds me of this...

Yeah.
We have an interesting school body; only about 80 kids. This week we're celebrating National Lutheran Schools Week. Which, as you can see, was last week. But last week we had two snow days, which were actually extreme cold days. So we're celebrating this week. The kids set a list of "dress up days," which seems kind of odd for high school students, but we have fun doing it. Today was Hipster Day. Which is counter, really, because, if you say, "I'm dressed 'Hipster,'" you are, by default, NOT. Again, we have fun doing it. Here I am with a colleague, being tragically hip. Emphasis on Tragically.

You can tell we're hipsters best in this shot, because we are NOT looking at the camera and definitely NOT smiling. We. Just. Don't. Care.

Resolutions

Do you make resolutions? I always do, and always forget about them by the end of January. I don't intend to, but Life gets in the way. Like when I decide to work out regularly, and I get sick around January 10th, that sort of thing.

By the way, that's typical. The average person gives up their resolutions by January 9th. This year, however, I want to be above average. Not an A student, just a B. Above average. So I'm shooting for January 15th.

And so I made my resolution simple. It comes from a Facebook meme I saw; "If the Mayans taught us anything, it's that, if you don't finish something, it's not the end of the world." This year, I'm going to do my best to not focus so much on the end result, but on the process of getting there. I'm going to try and take rabbit trails, if necessary,in order to really live my life.

And, yes, because I'm one of those personality types, I am working on a healthier diet, too, and prayer. Lots of prayer.

Happy Halloween!

So, I've gotten this post-once-or-twice-a-month thing down, haven't I? Poor little blog. It's so neglected.

Next time there's a referendum, and someone says,"Those teachers don't need a raise. They get paid for the whole year, and they only work 9 months," I'd like you to think of this. I teach for 80 minutes per week; I monitor study hall (translation, babysit the darlings so they get their homework done and you don't have to deal with it) for another 80. I spend huge chunks of my "down" time organizing lessons, writing worksheets, writing tests, locating videos and other supporting materials, pre-screening those, grading papers, and putting out 2-3 fires per day. You know, someone has an academic disappointment and sobs through half of study hall. Someone else breaks up and sobs through half the school day, those kind of things. In short, that little bit of time I get in front of the classroom (and it flies by in the blink of an eye) is supported by easily 5 times that amount of time in prep time. Homeschooling was a walk in the park, compared to this. But there, I had only myself looking over my shoulder.

Add in all the usual house-wifery that needs doing on a daily basis, yours truly being somehow responsible for all of that, too, and I am left with precious little time to blog. But I think of you, and the blog, often, and it'll work itself out in time.

Until then, here's a happy little number for your Halloween celebration. After all, this is All Saints' Eve. Martin, get your hammer.

Facebook

How many of you are NOT active on Facebook? I've been using the social network for...I don't know how long. A while. I have a love/hate relationship with the thing. It took me a bit to get used to e-mail. I still don't know how to write a good e-mail, since that involves second-guessing my reader. I prefer face-to-face communication, or, at least, a phone call. Of course, phones have gotten so small that, when I use one, I often end up with a knot in my back for days from propping the thing on my shoulder while I do the normal things a mom has to do.

But I know that progress is important, and e-mail is so cheap and easy that I've come to do most of my communication with friends through that medium. Until recently, with the advent of Facebook. I resisted for a while, until I realized that many of my friends were becoming more active there than in e-mail. So I opened an account.

Things happened along the way. Friends misread friends, fighting began, friends "unfriended" each other, citing "rudeness."

Now, however, a popular Facebook pass-along is a schmaltzy post about the sharing of political viewpoints. A friend of mine posted that she was going to be "blocking" her friends who chose to post political posts. She wanted her Facebook experience to be nicer, and more fun.

I didn't realize that a social network would be nicer, and more fun, when folks left their political opinions out of the mix. After all, don't we talk about politics daily? Are we having a miserable time?

But I figured I would do my best to help my friend to feel better. So I have decided that, for the month leading up to the election, I will post ONLY posts about unicorns and rainbows. Really. My Facebook is All Unicorns and Rainbows, All the Time.

Except on debate nights. Sorry.

So. Check it out. A nicer, more fun, Facebook. Right there on my page!

Snow White, I'm Not. But I Have Seven Dwarves to Work in the Kitchen!

As one of my faithful stalkers, you know that one of the things I am doing this fall is teaching a Home Economics class. The kids have learned some handsewing, and have done a little learning about nutrients and food. It is getting closer and closer to the time when I actually have to teach them something about cooking.

Thing is, our school is in an old church school building, and, while we have a kitchen, it's the traditional church basement kitchen. The appliances are elderly, the facilities, while Health Department approved, have been let go for a bit, and the supplies are of the "I got new stuff so I'm donating some things (read: antiques) to the church kitchen" variety. Fun times.

This week I decided to have the kids tackle cleaning the kitchen. It hasn't been used for Home Ec since last fall, and then it was used by a bachelor teacher as his personal kitchen. When I started cleaning one of the sinks, I found remains of a salad he probably made in May. Eew. We also found evidence of rodent residents, but, undeterred, we rolled up our sleeves and got to work.

Today, after three class periods, (one of those was actually a double period) we can say that we've made some headway. I'd like to start cooking next week, but, sadly, we'll need another day of cleaning time, I think. But that's OK. Cleaning is a Home Ec lesson, too.

And some of the kids need that lesson. Today one of the girls sprayed degreaser on the old stove, and dug in to scrub. "Wait," I said. "What do you mean?" she said. "I mean, WAIT," I said. "Let the stuff work, and you won't have to scrub so hard." Sure enough, 10 minutes later, we wiped the stove pretty clean. That impressed her just a bit too much. When I asked her and Mary to put the grates from the burners in some tubs, pour in some water and degreaser, and let them soak a while, she got creative. I imagine her thought process was something like, "If degreaser works that well alone, I bet it'll work even better with bleach." Soon we had some hydrogen chloride cooking away very obnoxiously in our kitchen. One of the girls noticed first, saying, "It stinks,that stuff." Then I heard Mary say, "I told you not to do that." "Do what?" I asked. Minutes later, EPA be damned, those tubs were being emptied down the drain, the fans came on, and water was flushing everything that could be flushed. "Now, what have we learned today?" I asked. She said, "I didn't know you couldn't mix things like that." But now she does.

I love being a teacher...I love being a teacher...I love being a teacher...

Speaking Geezer

Have you ever done that? Is that a second language to you, or are you wondering,"What in tarnation is she talking about?" (If the latter, you're fluent!)

Speaking geezer, if neither of the above applies to you, means employing phrases like, "When I was a kid," or "I had a car once," or, even, "Aren't you going to finish that?"

Or, like I've said recently, "Back in high school,..."

"I can't believe I saw..."

"I don't understand why..."

It's a tightrope. On the one hand, I am 53, after all. I entered a new demographic 8 years ago. People hold doors for me again, without apology. When I get out of bed in the morning, something protests. If it's not my back, it's my knees. Hair stylists arrange my coiffure so as to de-emphasize the jowls they tell me I don't have. I was told last weekend that my pretty manicure made the speaker remember her grandmother's hands. I haven't been able to shop in the junior section for about 20 years, but now even the misses' section can get a little racy, depending on the store.

Stop. I'm getting depressed.

On the other hand, there are people alive who remember me in diapers, and, no, I don't mean Depends. My youthful idiocy is trotted out regularly for all to see and laugh over.

I get no respect. And I'm old enough to remember that comedian.

Or I get too much respect. It's a balancing act.

Not that I regret anything. With these years comes a measure of wisdom and patience that my 25-year-old-self could never have imagined. And I wouldn't be 25 again on a dare.

35, maybe.

No, 40, because that was a year when I had all my kids and I didn't have any grandchildren yet.

Yeah, 40.

Which, now that I think of it, seems so young.

And that, my friends, is Geezer.

Field Trip!

Yesterday our school left school.
The juniors and seniors headed up to APT to see/hear Twelfth Night. Mary and Minah enjoyed it, and the weather was wonderful for an outdoor performance of Shakespeare.
I went along with the freshmen and sophomores to the Art Institute.
Yeah. 45 freshmen and sophomores in an art museum.
No one was arrested. All were picked up at the end of the day. It was a good field trip.

I saw one of my favorites. Lucas Cranach's The Crucifixion.
Saw something new this time; a seascape which was extremely detailed and caught the image so that it looked like a photograph. Do I remember the artist or title? Why would I have done that? I can say that it's an American work, at the south end of the American gallery, in the main room, all the way to the end and to the right. Beautiful.
Today is horsey pedicure and Home Ec and History. Good day, all!

Surprise!!

John and I went to Vienna in 2000 He called one day and said, "I have a meeting in Vienna. Are you all right if I go?" I said, "Of course. But you have to bring me with you." I was only half kidding. I have a friend there, a woman I've been writing to since I was 15, and I thought it would be fun to meet her. Little did I know that I would fall in love with, of all things, a city. But that is not the point of this story.
He went ahead for a meeting and I met him there. (I used Frequent Flier miles and my entire airfare cost was something like $85. Cool.) On the way, I had an overnight in London. I had never been out of the country alone, and he was nervous for me. (I was actually OK, until I got there…) He booked a room at the Radisson near Heathrow, thinking it would be good and close and there was a shuttle and it would be worth the money, since he wouldn’t have to worry about me.
I was a baby in my younger years. Needed a nightlight ALL THE TIME. Couldn’t sleep alone; when he’d travel, the kids came into bed with me, AND my grandma would stay for a few nights.
I was so proud of myself that night, shutting off all the lights and going to sleep all alone in a foreign country.
You know what’s coming, don’t you?
I got up around 3am, headed for the potty, and turned the bathroom light on. A flock, a herd, a myriad of cockroaches, scuttled for the dark. I screamed. I mean, I could hear their little feet clicking on the tile! In a Radisson? Wasn't this supposed to be a nice hotel?I knew, knew, knew, I should go downstairs and complain and ask for alternate arrangements. But I was exhausted, had a 6am wakeup call for my next flight to Vienna, and, against my better judgment, I went back to bed…with every light in the room on. I even turned on the TV for light, although I muted it.
I checked out in the morning without saying a word. I was foolish. I paid $285 for a night with a colony of cockroaches. But it makes a good story, right?

Shameless

So, I didn't tell you, because I didn't notice, but that last post was my 888th post.

But this one is more important.


Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday, dear Melody!
Happy Birthday to ME!

I spent it, as usual, doing something having to do with the county Fair. Had to take Mary over to show some artwork. She did well.

If I had a plan for dinner, today would be perfect...

Wordless Wednesday

Insomnia

Insomnia has returned. Every so often, I have a night or three when I get little sleep. I fall asleep just fine. It's just that I wake up two hours earlier than I need to, and can't get back to sleep. Last night I got to bed late; midnight. I needed to be up at 6 for another day of seminar. I knew I'd be sleepy later in the day, but I figured it would all work out.

I woke up at 4am.

I lay there for an hour and 15 minutes, worrying about a simple thing I had been ignoring for a couple of days. I knew it needed to be done, but I've been busy with lots of things, and didn't get to it. Now it might cost me some money, and that idea set my mind racing and then it just wouldn't stop.

So, at 5:15am, I got up and did what I had been putting off. Within 10 minutes, things were fine. But I'm not the kind of person who can go back to bed, so I stayed up, folding things, organizing other things, clean still other things. When it came time to go to work, I was ready for a nap. A nap I still have not had, and now it's suppertime.

Fatigue does crazy things. Today I was at my computer, trying to do an assignment during this seminar, and the tears just came. I was able to dam them up, but it was, pure and simple, exhaustion. Same thing as I drove home and the sun hit my eyes. The little bit of pain that caused was enough to set me over the edge again.

All this just to explain why I'm going to bed early tonight? Yep. Because I have to be up at 5am to take chickens to their destiny.

Wanna bet I won't be able to get up tomorrow?

The New Job

So I've been away today, learning to be a better teacher. Although I think that's going to be made a little more complicated, in that we added another online place to look for staff messages. As if our two e-mail addresses weren't enough.

I guess I should comment some on going back to work this fall. I'll be working part-time, still supervising study halls, but also teaching. I'll have a World History class, a one semester Home Ec class, and, somewhere in there, I'll have kids doing Keyboarding that I have to somehow supervise. I'm feeling a little stress these days, trying to put together something approaching lesson plans. I'm sure I'll get them done, but I'm sure I don't know how. I know, I know. "Well, if you know this stuff, just get up there and teach it." OK. It really IS that easy, she said, wishing again that there was a font for sarcasm.

Our school is small, just 85 students. Our staff is small; a principal, a secretary, 4 full-time teachers, 3 part-time. It really feels like a family. And you just don't want to let your family down. Added to this is the fact that this will be our youngest child's last year in high school, and, well, there's some pressure, a little trepidation, and a whole lotta emotion.

36 days and counting....

NKOTB

(No points if you know the reference for the title. You know why.)

Many years ago, my grandmother acquired some mugs commemorating the coronation of England's Queen Elizabeth II. She eventually gave one to me.



Over time, I acquired more Elizabeth mugs. I have one from her Silver Jubilee, and her Golden Jubilee. They live with the Coronation mug in my hutch.



Some countries, when a leader needs commemorating, rush to buy ticky-tack made in foreign countries. Not so our British cousins. All of these were made in Jolly Olde, and I really didn't mean to collect them. The Coronation mug just needed company.

Recently, while web surfing, I found, well, can you guess?



Yep, it arrived yesterday, from Stoke on Trent in Staffordshire. Lovely, translucent bone china. She smiles so happily in her picture. Too bad her hubby had to miss the concert.

Now, I don't use these on a regular basis. Once upon a time, I actually had 2 Coronation mugs; one had the date misprinted. The J was backwards, so it appeared that she'd taken the throne in Lune of 1952. Whoever drank from that mug was teased for being "Looney." But, alas, about 4 years ago, the Lune cup was taken from us after tea one afternoon, victim of a tragic washing accident. So now I don't use the mugs.

I do have the tradition of using them for one cuppa when they first come here, so, today, I had breakfast with the Queen.



Yes, I had cherry pie for breakfast. I made it yesterday with some pie cherries I bought from a local orchard. Mary pronounced it the Best. Cherry. Pie. Ever. And it was. We finished it for breakfast. I suppose I should have had tea in my mug, but I didn't. I'm a Colonial, after all, and, no, thank you, Your Majesty, I will take no tea.



I think my morning brew did originate in one of her former colonies, though. I'm thinking Kenya.

Well, as they say in England these days, Long May She Reign! I'll have more mugs to collect!

(For the record, I'm not collecting "Charles" mugs.)

Leaving Home

I've been spending this week pretending to be an English/Literature/German teacher. It's a good gig; a small, private school, great kids, great staff. But I still have to leave home each morning. Even though we're not there to mess it up, it's amazing how our house is falling apart, little by little, each and every day.

Obviously, no one is there to leave trash, etc, lying around. But there's also no one there to pick up the clutter and put it away. And, when you're up and at 'em early in the morning, heading out to the great adventure of the day, it's easy to leave a trail of clutter behind you. A spot of toothpaste and water on the bathroom sink, an unmade bed, a rejected outfit. Breakfast dishes, coffee grounds, a dirty knife that was used to make a sandwich. Each of these is an itty bitty mess, but, gathered together, they make a house look tired. And, when the people of the house arrive in the evening, genuinely tired, the itty bitty messes grow. A stack of lunch containers. A receipt from a quick stop at the store. Mud on shoes, dirty travel mug, cooler (for lunch) which needs wiping out. Add in the little bits of bone the dog chewed during the day, and some tufts of cat hair, and, oh, my, we're heading toward a big mess.

It's obvious, in this world, that work needs to be done in order for a living to be made. But then who handles the living? Who is home to clean the home, organize the home, and make the home fit for those who will return to it in the evening?

I guess that's the BIG question.