My beautiful blogging friend, Shirley Blamey, called me via FaceTime from her home in England this afternoon. Her equally beautiful husband, Michael Steeden, joined us on the call. I absolutely love these two—their wit, wisdom, and encouragement have helped buoy me as I attempt to finish my novel during the pandemic.
We’ve enjoyed several FaceTime calls and I’ve become quite comfortable letting these two wonderful people into my life. So comfortable in fact that as I was engaged in conversation I set about the task of hanging some of my delicates up to dry.
All at once I hear Shirley say, “Are those your knickers?”
For some reason I thought my panties weren’t visible on the screen, but sure enough, those were my knickers. I just hope dear Shirley and Mike aren’t permanently scarred by the sight.
On this Tuesday in quarantine I’ve discovered the long lost tv remote control that Studly Doright claimed he’d looked high and low for. It was in plain sight on the table next to his recliner. “Huh! What do you know?” he said.
In addition, I located a set of headphones that he swore he’d already searched for. These weren’t on top of the end table, but inside it. Again, he said, “Huh! What do you know?”
I’ve had my favorite Irish breakfast tea with a splash of almond milk and a bit of honey. Now, until a few weeks ago I’d have laughed at the idea of any kind of milk in my hot tea, but it’s quite good and for the rest of the morning I’ve spoken exclusively in an Irish accent. I’m better at Scottish accents, but as far as I can tell there’s no Scottish breakfast tea in the house. Maybe I should look on the table beside Studly’s chair.
I’ve worked on the novel a bit. I wrote a thousand words yesterday, but only 500 this morning. I’m having trouble getting my characters to shut up and move along. And I know I need less talk and more ambiance to flesh out the book.
For lunch I ordered takeout from Sweet Pea in Tallahassee. I worry about my favorite vegan place during this time. I tip extra every time I buy a meal there, but I know their business is probably slow right now. Be sure and support your local mom and pop businesses if you can.
My laundry is as caught up as it’s ever been. I do at least one load of towels every day on the “sanitize” settings, and that takes a considerable amount of time.
I tried to take a nap, but my brain won’t stop trying to solve the problem I’m having with the novel, so I picked up my phone and began writing this post. I wonder if the solution to my characters’ issues could be found on the table next to Studly’s chair? It’s worth taking a look, I guess.
Apparently my week of vacation caught up to me today. Studly Doright and I arrived home around eight last evening and crawled into our bed after showers and a snack. He was snoring before I turned the lights out.
Today I ran a couple of errands in Tallahassee, while Studly unloaded the pickup. Now I have a brightly colored hill of dirty clothes awaiting my attention. Laundry will have to wait until tomorrow, though. All I had energy for after sorting the clothes was a nap. It was a beautiful nap, transcending time and space and stinky socks.
I’ll leave you with a couple of photos I took of motorcyclists leaving the lunch gathering at our rally in Bristol, Tennessee. I might’ve ridden a couple in my dreams this afternoon.
I was away from home for exactly one week while Studly Doright stayed home with the cats. For my trip, I packed two pairs of jeans, five blouses, and undergarments. Having done some laundry while visiting in my daughter’s home, I returned to Doright Manor with just one blouse, a pair of jeans, and a couple of unmentionable items to be laundered. Everything else went right into the closet.
Studly, on the other hand, seems to have worn every single button down shirt he owns along with half a dozen golf shirts, ten t-shirts, and at least a dozen pants/shorts. It appears that he must’ve come home midday, every day I was gone to change shirts. Or maybe he wore two shirts at a time for a ridiculous layered look. Who knows? It’s like a math story problem:
If a woman goes out of town for one week and leaves her husband to fend for himself, how many loads of laundry will that husband do in her absence?
Don’t be fooled by the title. This post is neither romantic nor particularly mindful; although, if having an abrupt wake up call makes one more mindful, then maybe it’s partly an accurate title. The thing is, I kind of set my underpants on fire this morning.
I lit a candle to start the day off with a pleasant wake me up ambience, and placed said candle on the counter in the kitchen. Then I went about my morning chores. I was putting away Christmas decorations and doing loads of laundry while awaiting the arrival of a service man, keeping one eye on the clock so I didn’t forget to watch for the Orkin guy.
The dryer buzzed, and I took out a load of clothes that included a few pair of my undies. As I turned away from the dryer, the doorbell rang signaling the service man’s arrival, so rather than carry the clothes with me to answer the door, I plopped them on the kitchen counter.
As I opened the door it occurred to me what I’d just done. “Come in!” I cried at the startled Orkin man. “Shut the door behind you, I think I just started a fire in the kitchen.”
Thank goodness only one piece of clothing had fallen into the candle. There were no flames, just a bit of smoldering cotton. And fortunately my mistake only affected a pair of undies that should have been relegated to the rag bag a long time ago.
Nevertheless, I learned a lesson here. Be careful where you drop your drawers.
Normally I take on the task of doing our laundry on Mondays. With just two of us in the house these day the once dreaded and seemingly unending chore now only requires a couple of hours of my time. I actually enjoy doing laundry now.
Studly Doright did quite a bit of traveling this past week, both for work and recreation, so he dumped a suitcase full of dirty clothes on the bathroom floor this Sunday morning and then asked if I’d mind doing laundry this afternoon.
“No, I don’t mind at all,” I said. “But why do you need for me to do laundry today?”
“I’m changing my name to Laundry,” he quipped and ducked out the door before I could throw something at him.
Here’s a riddle: If a domestic goddess has spent the morning doing laundry and ends up with a load of towels, washcloths, undies, and socks to be folded and subsequently put away, how many trips will it take her to complete the job?
Answer: (choose one)
A) 4 (one to load the washer, one to transfer load to the dryer, one to carry the items to a place for folding, one to carry the items to their storage place)
B) 25+ (one to load the washer, one to transfer the load, one to carry the items to a place of folding, 21+ roundtrips to put away items by category and/ or purpose.)
If you picked A, you don’t know this domestic goddess very well. B is the proper response. Why, you might ask, would anyone be dumb enough to operate with B as the template?
My Fitbit made me do it.
July in Tallahassee, Florida, is hot as blue blazes and humid, to boot. Exercising outside is best done early in the morning or late in the evening. Since I slept until 8 a.m., I missed out on the prime walking time.
Studly Doright feels slighted if I go walking during the evening (besides, that’s when the creepy crawlies are about), so I had to find a way to get my steps in without leaving Doright Manor. Thus, I’ve become an inefficiency expert.
As the day progresses, I’ll make multiple trips from the laundry room to the master bedroom to hang clothes one at a time. If I leave the house I’ll gather shopping bags separately for individual trips to and from the car. At the grocery store I’ll determine the route that is least efficient, often crisscrossing the store a dozen times.
For me, this exercise routine is second nature. I’ve always done every task possible in the most illogical way, so capitalizing on this tendency is a win-win. Now, with my Fitbit I have a witness. And it has yet to scoff at my methods. I can’t say the same for Studly Doright.
The hours I spend at Tallahassee Animal Services as a volunteer are the among the best of my week. Only surprise calls from my grandchildren can top being with the cats and kittens at the shelter.
Each week has its pleasures: cuddling a sweet kitty and feeling it purr against my chest, enticing a morose cat from her perch at the back of a kennel to come closer for a behind-the-ear scratching, watching a hopeful feline leave with his new family.
But each week has its little messes, too. This past Wednesday I spent some time doing laundry and putting it away. The shelter goes through countless loads of dirty towels, blankets, and cloth toys. Soiled items are placed in an oversized trash bin.
I grabbed an armful of laundry this week and was rewarded with the icky wet smell and feel that only dog pee can produce. And now I had that smell, too. All over my tee shirt.
Having successfully loaded the washer I stooped to pick up a substantial piece of fuzz from the floor and realized just in time that it wasn’t fuzz, it was poo. Stinky, relatively new, poo. All in an afternoon’s work.
Here are just a few of the animals available for loving adoption at Tallahassee Animal Services. Remember, “Don’t Shop, Adopt!”
My cats were glad to see me when I arrived home Tuesday afternoon after a week on the road. Studly Doright was, too. I could tell by the way he purred when I rubbed between his ears.
Today has been devoted to laundry. It could’ve been much worse, but Studly took it upon himself to do his own. I did a happy double take when he told me that he’d successfully pushed the appropriate buttons on both washer and dryer. He even took the time to learn how to properly use the Tide pods that I’m so fond of.
Studly has always claimed he didn’t know how to do the laundry. Now, this is the man who taught me the difference between a two-stroke engine and a four-stroke. He’s the same one who made sure I knew how to check my own oil and to change a tire. And yet somehow laundry mystified him until this past week.
Well played Studly. Well played.
He’s really good with the grandbabies, too. No instructions necessary.