Don’t run a marathon, the doctor told me after last week’s shot. I haven’t run miles, but I’ve been continually moving with my domesticities until the pain sits me quietly somewhere. The Great Geezer is operating on the “It hasn’t happened yet philosophy”…which is good, I suppose. It hasn’t happened yet.
I believe it will. Just in case, I made him buy a decent pair of dress khaki’s to wear if they call him in. He’s a car guy, but still he can look decent. He wore them last night, and they were so long they almost looked like a train followed each foot. I took the pants to the cleaners to be shortened after swimming this morning and absolutely must remember to pick them up on Friday.
He’s thinking of more technical matters. More monitors so he will have three while he secretly longs for four. Instead of thinking monitors, I am determined to move all of his work space into the sun of the corner windows. He argued, but caretakingly I reminded him that he needed sunshine or he get’s depressed. So somewhere in the middle of the long desk the printer and scanner will live, the travel books now supplant the quilts, and my bottom dresser drawer will be packed into a box for storage…all these under the bed.
Each thing that we move frees up another handful of inches of this or that for another cause.
I’ve shopped. Paper thin pork loins with sautéed peaches, potatoe wedges with a tossed green salad. Tomorrow corn chowder. I even remembered that we were going to two pot lucks this weekend. We will be very late for one, but we wouldn’t miss this first apartment, this first house warming party for a once homeless Iraq vet. He’s got a lot of support. Cheese and crackers from us. They say he needs nothing else.
So now I am dodging the volumes of dust I found on the train books. I’ve moved this and that and this again until there’s room in the office where there wasn’t before. Life is awfully good. Later they called and postponed it all a week. Life is still awfully good.
It hasn’t happened yet, but I believe it will.