Thursday, April 28, 2016

The Towel Tale

So, life has been strange for…oh, the last three years or so. If you follow me, you know. If you don’t and you’re curious just start hopping around on this blog. I won’t rehash why, I’ll just say, for someone who has always cracked herself up…it’s gotten worse (heh).

We seem to always have a shortage of towels around here. We never had that problem when the laundry fairy was with us. My husband was of the belief that we were a “one load per day minimum” household. But seeing as I wrote all day, homeschooled our son, handled all kid stuff, and the various things that would crop up during any given day, he didn’t look to me to do it. If I didn’t manage to toss a load in during the day, he did it in the evening. The laundry fairy name evolved because during the weekend he’d blow through whatever was left. Like a madman. Load after load, until it was done.

We’d pass some loads off to the kids to fold. Or I’d so some. Or he’d do them all. It varied. I was the official ‘putter awayer’. Which is funny because I don’t mind washing or folding laundry, it’s the putting away that kills me. However, if someone is strong arming your laundry for you, you don’t complain.

We no longer have a laundry fairy. And I am the proud sole owner of two teenagers who often forget that things like…oh, clean towels, are important. Until they’re ready to get into the shower and don’t have any.

We’ve gotten a decent system down (at least we try). When they get low someone will throw a load in. Which is where this blog comes in. Like I said, we struggle with laundry, and I talk to myself even more than I used to when Jim was alive. And I am a funny motherfucker, so I crack myself up.

The other day my pile of laundry had gotten way out of control. And we were growing low on towels. To avoid getting out of the shower and wandering down the hallway wet, naked and shouting for anything, anything at all---a clean tee shirt, a dish towel, a paper towel, hell, a coffee filter, I was keeping a close eye on them as I bagged up a load to throw in. It sort of went: clothes, clothes…1 towel…clothes, clothes…two towels…three towels…four towels…five towels…And then the bag was full. I glanced at Jim’s photo on the bookshelf, tossed my head back, and said in my best Sesame Street Count voice, “Five towels!”

And that’s how I cracked myself up and why Sesame Street is still a major influence in my life. Or it’s senility but I’ll stick with my original theory. A pointless blog, really, but if there is a point it’s this:

Always make sure you have clean towels.
Always crack yourself up.
Always remember your lessons from Sesame Street.
Always find something amusing in every single day. Even if it’s a shitty one.

Somewhere my husband chuckled at my self-humor. Humor was big in this house (still is). Almost as big as clean towels and the one load per day minimum.


Monday, April 25, 2016

The Story of the Accidental Bunny Habitat

So, I’ll be the first to admit that since Jim passed the lawn would totally not pass muster with him. I admit it and I do the best I can. It’s become sort of a begrudging Zen thing with me, mowing that bastard yard.

Years and years ago—those of you who followed me on Smut Girl (my original blog) might remember—we had a pear tree that decided to just start dropping limbs. The first being on Jim’s Jeep baby. So, the tree guys came and said it had to come down. It had gotten ridiculously enormous considering it was one of the soft wood pear trees that have caused many a problem. And we figured before it dropped a limb on a person we should have it taken down.

Jim, being Jim, paid extra to have the stump removed. That’s the origin story of the accidental bunny habitat. As the years passed, sans tree, obviously the root system began to break down and rot. And we noticed it was sinking some where the tree had stood.

I really noticed it when he was in chemo. And considering I had about a bajillion things going on and barely had time to breathe, I stuck a stick in it with a red rag tied around it. Ya know…to say…don’t walk here.

Well, everyone and their mother (including Jim’s mother!) walked right over the damn thing anyway. But it really wasn’t that bad. Just a kind of divot. So, I didn’t worry too much.

Last summer the neighbor’s cat escaped (I originally typed her house escaped. I might have mentioned at the beginning of this blog that I was up at 5:15 this morning to drop girl child off at 6:15 for a field trip…but I ramble…) and I saw this woman walk right over my lawn and sort of dip where the stick was. Like she might fall. So that worried me. The following day I went and got the stones that were originally around the base of the tree and formed a ring so that no one would walk there—period.

A week later our trimmer broke. Such a shock! (not really, if you follow me on social media you know that just about every damn thing in my house broke last summer). And so many things had gone haywire/broken since he died and we were nearing winter, it wasn’t a priority. I was fine with looking like the crazy widow who had a stone circle containing…well, very tall grass and nothing else. LOL

Fast forward to this year. The damn grass is growing again (why does it insist on doing that? Can’t we just mow it once and be done?) and the grass in the circle has gotten very tall. The other day, I looked out to see this guy---

He sits in there, in his bunny sanctuary and eats the grass (hey, who needs a trimmer, am I right? Nature, baby!) and dandelions. He seems to feel very secure in there, except for when I mow, which I did today, this pic is from Friday so DO NOT JUDGE ME, PEOPLE! I figure I’ll leave the grass even when I do get a trimmer. Jim had a bunny out back that he used to talk to when he was smoking cigars. The rabbit became so accustomed to his presence and his voice, it would come right up on the patio and sit near his feet. I know it’s not the same bunny, but damn, I used to think that was the cutest thing.

I also figure I’ll leave it (or maybe plant a bush for the rabbits to actually hide under) because that hole, believe it or not, inspired my book Once Bitten Twice Shy. It literally opens with someone falling in the hole. And it was that damn hole I was talking about in the novel.

Thus ends the rambling blog about how I built and accidental bunny habitat. And how I think we’ll name him Petey the Second in honor of Jim’s original bunny buddy. This also acts as an official notice to all of you who have been under a rock and have not heard me bitch about how—I HATE MOWING THE LAWN!

p.s. Bonus excitement! My new melon slicer my aunt sent me (so I can have classy melons) and a baby pineapple. Because…baby pineapple!