Sunday, December 8, 2002

off the wall but saved from the thrift store

"Time is very dangerous without a rigid routine. If you do the same thing every day at the same time for the same length of time, you'll save yourself from many a sink. Routine is a condition of survival."

Flannery O'Connor

I wake up bright enough. A little stuffiness. Amazing I slept so well considering that I dozed all evening. Guess I needed it. That's what I always say.

I fool with my computer. (I'm sorting, renaming, organizing, pictures, allegedly.) I answer some e-mail. I watch some Sunday morning TV, directed by FFP telling me to change channels to see this or that. He starts a wash and the crossword puzzle in the NY Times magazine. I look at the big pile of ads in the paper. I'm not shopping for much these days. Still I like to glance through them...see what's selling, what prices are, etc. I walk through and try a couple of clues in the puzzle he's abandoned on the dishwasher.

FFP goes for a workout. I start to get ready to go with him but decide to just go and return on my own schedule. When I finally go he is isn't home yet but he's gone from the club when I get there. The lake is shades of gray and silver. There isn't so much rain and fog that you can't see the colors on the trees on the opposite bank but the next set of higher hills is fuzzy gray, making the huge homes hugging on their sides look even bigger and farther apart.

I do my bike ride, my arm exercises and a little rowing to nowhere. I consider going to my dad's to look for mail from yesterday but put it off until tomorrow.

Home again, FFP is having toast with molasses and has eaten up some leftover soup and chicken breast. I eat some little sausages and sautéed mushrooms and onions with a little parmesan thrown on top. I clean up after myself. We eat at home more now and I'm sure we save money. We also spend a lot of time washing dishes, scrubbing up, preparing our meals (however haphazardly).

This isn't unusual for us really...going to the club at different times, eating different things. FFP settles in front of the TV with reading material and a football game going but looks like sleep might come and I decide it's time to try to make headway in the guest room. I've got to get it to the point that it can be a guest room and that means some stuff is going to have to go somewhere. To be given away or sold. Or crammed in a closet. Something has got to go. I try to think of the thrift store getting a few score dollars for the stuff. I see the car fill up and think that each discarded thing gives me room to maneuver, room to think. This is the kind of stuff that isn't really an asset. It isn't worth much and it obscures and gets in the way.

Of course, as the project progresses, things appear more rather than less messy. I drag things out of a closet to get some room to stow things I want to keep. I discover a couple of boxes that I think should be in my office and clutter it up a bit more. I start going through old notes and papers.

What did you find to discard, you ask? Some framed posters and photos, clothes, a nice nightlight-type lamp we don't really have a place for, a black and white TV and a bunch of flamingo stuff.

We go to a party at Westwood. It's the members' Christmas party. The food is free. Yep, free. Free plays well in this economy. The drinks are going fast, too, though and they are going on members' bills so that's good. Actually, of course, the food isn't free. It is coming out of the dues for sure.

We visit with people, meet and greet (people we know, those we don't until now), listen to Margaret Wright. I have two gin and tonics but they don't seem to penetrate.

We go home around 7:30 and head for chairs, TV, reading. I've decided that I need to start reading the newspaper in real time. This will involve getting the stack reduced, too. We will see. In any case, I make my scan (you can hardly call it reading) through both the Sunday Statesman and The New York Times. I even reduce the stack a little.

JUST TYPING
Not exactly raining.
Not exactly not.
Roof drips.
Ground painted wet.
The rain builds.
Grows.
More drops.
Not exactly drenching.
But real rain.