One-day respite

Today, no work in the flowerbeds, pending the rain that was supposed to show up, but didn't. Unless you count the fifteen minutes of sprinkling we got as rain.

Things are falling into place. Jeff has to be at the airport at 6:00 tomorrow morning. I'll get up, take him to the airport, then come back to the house and plot the day. I'm supposed to pick Heather's father up at the airport at 12:30—Kat is going to tag-team with me. Once Heather's dad is squared away and taken care of, then through various trips Kat and I will secure the needed rototiller and compost for the flowerbed.

After that…it's back to the house, where I'll dig up the irises and put them in pots for the night. That will allow us to get most of the bed raked out before the morning, leaving less for us to do on Saturday.

Getting the holly bushes out on Saturday will be a victory in and of itself.

Saturday night I'll cook for Kat and Sean as reward for helping me out—though it seems pretty clear that I'm going to owe both of them a couple of sushi dinners for pitching in.

I'm going to remind myself of what it's like to live in a house alone. Jeff hates seafood and thus we never have it; Friday night I'm going to bake a salmon steak and wash it down with plenty of wine and whiskery help from the cats. I will watch old movies while in my pajamas, with my hair pulled up in the ugliest, scraggliest ponytail imaginable.

I might not even answer the phone if it rings.

I will watch Farscape and nibble on something tasty, spoil my cats and sing off-key to tame the silence of the mostly-empty house. I will forget about my blasted flowerbeds for a few hours. I ought to do something slow and thoroughly non-productive, like baking bread; I've always meant to learn how to bake garlic naan, and maybe now is the time to learn.

Then I shall do the most dastardly deed a married person could do—I shall crawl into bed in my most comfortable pair of pajamas, and take up residence in the center of the bed. My toes will wiggle of their own accord, rejoicing in the cool of the sheets. I shall read until my eyes are tired, my brain a bit rubbery, and the cats soundly asleep with their noses tucked under their tails.

Then perhaps I shall fall asleep in the center of the bed, propped up with the feather pillows I love and Jeff hates, and I shall sleep until daylight when the cats wake me.

Then yes, I shall wake up, a person alone in her bed, with a quiet wondering of how Jeff is faring at his seminar. Then I will shower, and dress, and ensure my cats are thoroughly spoilt, then toddle off to the flowerbeds for a grinding and grueling day that could only be survived by the preparations I've outlined here.

all tags: