Lyda here. Humpin’ as in Wednesday. Hump Day. Really, ya’ll. I mean, thanks for the faith in my ability to lure men into my lair, but really, it’s just ’cause it’s Wednesday.
Dribs and drabs today. She’s drib, I’m drab, together we are Drib and Drab!
Last weekend we cleaned the Resident Sith Master’s room. The room is shiny clean – and now there are 4 huge paper grocery bags of books sitting in the garage looking for a new home.
Inexplicably, at 16 he seems to feel he’s done with the picture books. But I kept one bag of special books for young visitors but mostly for sentimental reasons. And yes, just in case, some day a long long time from now, RSM might possibly maybe might gift me with grandkids. Or my newest grand-nephew wanders by with his parents.. But no pressure. And anyway, I can keep some of RSM’s baby stuff if I wanna, so there! But I digress…]
Yes, we had 5 huge bags of picture books. That’s AFTER many years of sending books to Anna-Liza’s boys. What? I used to be a preschool teacher, plus I review children’s books for Awareness Magazine (you can read my writing on line! Oh, you’re already doing that…) And I write children’s books. (Know any publishers?) And I love children’s books. And there was a hole in my tennis racket…
We still need to go through his closet (which is huge and stuffed with toys, yes, he has outgrown most of them too, hey, no use rushing into these things…), but that is a battle for another weekend.
After that, I’ll donate it all somewhere.
Or have a garage sale.
Or a drink. Or three.
This weekend, I will be working on my room. For one thing, it hasn’t been dusted in a dog’s age.
Pointless Sidebar: I was fixin’ to say “coon’s age” like my grandma, but some people might get all bent outta shape. How long is a coon’s age? Racoons live from 2 to 7 years in the wild, up to 17 in captivity. We are definitely talkin’ “a wild raccoon’s age” here. Actually, it’s probably only been a few months since I dusted, but “in a coon’s age” sounds all Southern. But I don’t want to offend anyone. So I changed it. And then I put all this in anyway. Please don’t be offended. Wait, come back!
Quick – distract the audience with a joke…
Look, here are some things every Southerner knows. Like what general direction cattywumpus is. Anna-Liza at least will laugh.
Methinks the lady doth digress too much…
As part of the August of Cleaing Madness, I have some ideas to fix up my bedroom, but I’m not sure yet which will actually happen over the next three days. Gotta get supplies. Gotta consult with Anna-Liza. Ya’ll will be the first to hear about the progress. Except for Anna-Liza of course, she will have to hear all my ponderings… Pity her. Send her fiber and stiff drinks.
Meanwhile, in another part of the castle:
The Garden Destruction AKA “Wall Building” is proceeding apace… at a slow pace actually. They start at 7 am, and then stop around noon. This allows them to make the maximum amount of noise and mess while actually accomplishing much. It also prevents the RSM from sleeping in, which as we all know is one of the Basic Teenager Summer Rights. The right to pizza, video games, and sleeping past noon…
So I’m guessing the construction guys are in for some lightsaber wounds any day now. Or at least force choking.
They haven’t cut down the tree… yet. Or pulled out my other plants over there.
So I’m watering it over the fence early in the mornings before they get there.
That’s right. I’ve been reduced to Stealth Gardening.
“Someday, when the construction is done…” (sing it, Snow!)
in a giant tortoise’s age (177 years or so)…
“in the year 2525, if man is still alive”… [Yes, welcome to another episode of “Name that TV Theme Song!” Thank you for playing…]
Oh jebus, will the digressions never end?
Eventually, when the fields are white with daisies… (heh! are you still here, Gorgeous and Available Engineer bro?)
Apparently no end to the digressions. It doesn’t seem to take much to amuse me…
Eventually, I plan to train some vines or something up their new wall. Hopefully they will soften the concrete brickness of it all. Plus, I will grow them higher than the wall. Because you can see into my garden from the second story of the new house on the other side of the wall.
I am not giving up sitting out there in my robe. Not for them, not for anyone.
Besides, I might want to practice some of my wild pagan rites out there, and I don’t want anyone watching.
They might turn into zombies. And turning one’s neighbors into zombies is not neighborly, ya’ll.
Then they brought it on theyselves, ya’ll.
* Crazy Aunt Purl’s Fried Chicken recipe is in that link up there and that one right here. You have to scroll down a bit…
** Some random jambalaya recipe, I can’t vouch for it but it sounded pretty good…
They make fair jambalaya at New Orleans Square in Disneyland…
Run! Run for your lives! I hear another digression coming on! Save yourselves!!!