Monday - life's start-again day. Whether you've trashed your house or crashed your diet over the weekend, stayed out too late, maybe drank one more glass of wine than you meant to - whatever - when Monday comes around you get back on track. Mondays are like having a New Year's Day once a week.
Except for the absolute minimum required to keep body and soul together, I did nothing last week but work on a music project, letting all else fall down around my ears. I finished the score, wrestling as always with the music-writing software, printed it out and mailed it off Saturday. I plowed through Sunday, which often starts too early and usually gets me home around time to collapse and watch "60 Minutes." Yesterday, Monday, I set about what my friend Karen terms "exerting control over my domestic environment."
The underwear alarm went off so I really had to do laundry. I seem to have a lot of laundry. I can't decide if this means I'm a very clean person or a very grubby one. I do know that every time I'm just about done with the laundry I do something rash - like get out a clean towel or change my socks - and before I even get the last load of the day folded and put away, I already have the beginnings of the next pile of laundry. It makes me think of that sour dough starter some people use to make bread; they always save a bit to start the next batch.
Cleaning up the rest of the house was - still is - a bit like mucking out the Aegean stables. The Squalor Alert Level had been hovering around orange, threatening to escalate to red in some corners of the house. I'm progressing toward yellow, aiming to bring it down around green by tomorrow . . . well, maybe Thursday. There's no hope of ever reaching the all-clear blue zone. I may be a nut case, but I'm a realistic one. My office always looks as if somebody has picked it up and shaken it.
I still haven't washed the kitchen floor or cleaned the stove, and I have a bunch of recycling to drop off, but I seem to have done enough to keep the Health Department (or the TSA) from showing up at my door. At least for now, I can live with that.
About Me
- Jan C. Snow
- Since 1984, my light commentary, Marginal Considerations, has been a feature of Weekend Radio. Moving into the 21st century (yeah, I know - a decade late and more than a dollar short), it may be time to explore the format known as "the blog." (Still on the radio, BTW.) I am the author of A Natural History of Socks, illustrated by the late Eric May, You May Already Be a Winner (and other marginal considerations) and The Nonexistence of Rutabagas, plus maybe 1K features, essays, book and arts reviews in newspapers and magazines nearly everywhere, except perhaps Kansas. I live on Lake Erie one city to the west of Cleveland with too many musical instruments, several large plants and no cats. My front door is purple. I collect dust, take up space and burn fossil fuel. I kayak, knit, hike, sing, canoe, write choral music and play hammered dulcimer, but not all at the same time. I read too much and don't write enough, but what's new?
No comments:
Post a Comment