Just one bloomin’ thing after another
It all started because the dog died. Just one bloomin’ thing after another has happened since Old Junior left the Green Farm. Yep, that must be the reason why I am in such a mess. Old Junior passed on to that great doggie heaven in the sky and left me to fend for myself.
Why he had to leave me this spring is just another one of those great mysteries. But, I do want to send Junior and his mother Tootie greetings and let them know how much they are missed. I also want our dearly departed doggies to know that it is entirely their fault that I am such a state of complete chaos. And the story goes like this…
Sometimes Men are Right
As I write this saga, Mother’s Day is almost here. And with Mother’s Day comes the idyllic vision of a beautifully groomed lady seated sedately in a flawlessly furnished living room surrounded by her adoring children and/or grandchildren. She is eagerly opening each of their gifts with a serene look of adoring rapture upon her face. What a picturesque moment!
The real scene is anything but a Hallmark card icon . Not on your life! The real scene portrays a gnarly arthritic female sprawled upon a cluttered living room floor desperately trying to read the easy-to-put-together instructions for her new gizmo lamp that she received for Christmas from the kiddie poos. She’s got to get this lamp put together before the kids arrive for the Mother’s Day get-together and supper time is almost here and she hasn’t even thought about what to prepare and hubby will be entering the scene pronto. Uffdah!
Her face is smudged with Chatsworth gold colored paint, multicolored furnace lint clings
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to her eyelashes, black fireplace soot accentuates her brows, and wispy strands of blue-grey dog hair electrify her bangs. She’s definitely in great shape for the shape’s she’s in. But hey! She’s an all-American woman/mother and proud of it!
But, even though she’s been working hard and doing her best, she’s run into a roadblock. She has tried to do too many things at the same time and has run into trouble. And now this poor thing has to admit that sometimes men are right.
Who is this woman?
The above smudged faced woman with the furnace lint and sooty eyebrows with clinging dog hair is actually me. Oh, I am a wreck at the moment and Mother’s Day is fast approaching. I wanted to have my house all sparkly clean for a change to celebrate the day. I don’t know if it’s going to happen, but I can tell you why I am in such a state of mass chaos and that’s because the dog died and wasn’t here to help me. And here’s the reason I make this prophetic statement.
You see, with Junior’s passing, I decided to clean the garage and clean up his dog stuff. Well, after cleaning the garage, it looked so great that I decided to call the carpet cleaners and do a little spring cleaning in the house. Well, in order to clean the carpets thoroughly, the furniture in the living room and the bedrooms had to be moved to other places in the house. This made for a clutterbust in the rest of the house, but oh, it was so nice to have the carpets cleaned professionally.
With the clean carpets and since the bedrooms were cleared of furniture, it just followed that it was a great time to freshen up the rooms with a new coat of paint. Okay! Since no one had time to help me, I decided to do the job myself and naturally this lead to taking everything off the walls and cleaning the draperies and removing the wall hanging. The walls were so yucky that before painting them, I had to wash them and fill the nail holes and do a little repair work and wash and polish the woodwork and so the trauma continued.
With the walls and carpets all clean and fresh smelling, I decided a little revamping of the furniture was in order which lead to some other problems and then the ultimate happened.
Fire in the Hole
Yes, I experienced a small fire in my kitchen. I was so busy with painting the rooms that an easy food prep for me was to put a roast in the oven for dinner. Well, after preheating the oven, the oven element melted and I had a small fire in the kitchen.
Fortunately for me, a repairman was called with a quick fix. I was happy about the snappy service but when he pulled out my stove-yuck, yuck and more yuck was behind my stove-so a quick wash down of the wall and some more painting followed.
Oh, with washing down the wall and the floor underneath the stove, I noticed how filthy the kitchen cupboards had become over winter. So, I washed one cupboard door and then remembered that I needed to give a second coat of Chatsworth gold paint in the small bedroom before my grandson arrived to help me put back the furniture. Maybe the cupboards would have to wait. Hmm?
But, while I was on the floor washing the one cupboard door, I happened to count the rest of the cupboard doors that needed to be cleaned and polished. Oh, my… one down, 29 more to go. Cupboard doors are one thing and then I noticed that the cupboard drawers were in just as bad of shape as the cupboard doors, but something told me not to count them. I then remembered about the Christmas gift lamp that needed to be put together and that’s where I am right now.
Well, it is 5:00 p.m. and time to start supper. I can’t figure out how to put the lamp together, the wall behind the stove is still wet so I can’t use the stove, the bedroom is still in need of a second coat of paint, the living room still needs to be put back together, the spare room is plum full of furniture and company is coming for the weekend-where will they sleep, and hubby just called and wants an early supper.
And like I stated before, it’s all because the dog died. If Junior was still here, I would have never cleaned the garage at this time of year and I wouldn’t be in this mess. Instead of all this cleaning, Old Junior and I would have just gone for a walk and enjoyed the sunshine.
Sounds like a good idea. Think I’ll go for a walk and do a little reminiscing.
Jane Green and her husband, Jim, live near Clark. Contact Jane for some public speaking, to order one of her books, or to register your comments. E-mail her at: email@example.com