The inside of the house is either cold or hot depending on whether the weather is hot or cold outside — it behaves the same because it’s a giant sieve with little insulation — but it’s still a beloved structure.
Lately it’s been getting a thorough going through and an elimination parade of things moving around and into better assemblance or out one or the other of two doors so that living in it is improved for pleasure.
A labor of love.
It’s a freedom house. Decidedly dedicated to only having fun except for these major parade events that happen once in every sixteen years or so which aren’t completely unfun.
It’s wonderful to see the floors again and have mopping made so easy, and jars and bottles in their rightful places, and space on all the counters, and clothes in all their closets.
No more stubbing toes on things that aren’t supposed to be where they are sitting at the moment and for far too many days or weeks or months or years thereafter. “Do I really need this?”
“Hmmm? Do I?”
“If I have to think about it twice it’s time for it to find a better purpose and a life with someone else who sees it with new eyes or thinks it can do something good for their own improved enjoyment or pleasure of living.”
Karmella and Puggles are coming here to live and they need the space that other things have taken in the mind of the old gray lady stubbing toes. Mopping can be done now so there is no longer need to mope non-stop about mopping.
She was told by an employer long ago that “If I get three main things done in every day, that’s a day I call successful. Three main things is about the limit.” So now she does at least three main things and thinks that three main things are far ahead of nothing.
She won’t say “Eating the elephant,” because she doesn’t believe in eating elephants or any other thing that has an eye or two that could look back at her in sorrow.
This old house is falling down but the old gray mare and the house are doing it together.
Writing Spool 