Mislaid post from late November ...

I am between housekeepers. This may sound less than tragic to some of you, but I'm here to tell you that it is no small thing. The wonderful woman who kept house for me for ten years has moved on to other employment that doesn't include other people's homes. The women who is to become my new housekeeper can't start until the week after Christmas. She has kept house for ten years for my Girlfriend Judge in Athens and assures me that she is sure I will be "no problem" (sic). I'm not entirely sure if the fact that we are judges (she also keeps house for another judge, but he is a guy) makes us somehow more difficult to deal with. My last housekeeper always said I was one of her "easy" ladies. I'm not sure if I'd rather be a difficult judge or an easy lady ... At any rate, what all this is in aid of is that I find myself having to make some effort at keeping my house from falling to wreck and ruin in the interregnum between the Queens of Clean. While I am perfectly capable of cleaning house, let's face it; I hate it. That's why I have a housekeeper. I'm one of those OCD cleaners who practically uses toothpicks, cotton swabs and toothbrushes to clean. By the time I'm through messing about with pet hair, pet paw prints, pet nose prints, etc. (are you sensing a theme here?) I am so tired, achey and grumpy that no one in their right mind would want to be around me and the furkids can't figure out what my problem is. Tonight I got as far as scrubbing down the kitchen with 16 different kinds of cleaners and moving everything except the refrigerator to clean behind, above, next to and in front of. There are now enough cleaning cloths in the washing machine to cover a football pitch three deep. I hope I can control myself and not fall, weeping, at the new housekeeper's feet when she arrives.


The holidays, which were looming large and scary on the horizon, have now come thundering over the ridge and are bearing down on us with merciless and terrible speed. I had envery intention of attending the Lessons & Carols program presented by the local collage choirs. It seemed like a civilized and lovely way to start the proper season. However, after an unnaturally long day of perfectly uncivilized behavior in divorce court, by the time I got home all I could think of was a glass of wine and putting my face in a pillow (not at the same time). So on to the next holiday adventure; the city Christmas parade on Saturday. I have the same argument with the courthouse decoration committee every year; they may not put a Christmas tree and Christmas decorations in the courtroom. They decorate the living daylights out of the rest of the courthouse, but not the courtroom. You always know that Santa's coming when you see the jail trustee inmates, in their festive orange jumpsuits, dragging the ladders and boxes of Christmas decorations up from the courthouse basement. A strange sort of turning of the seasons. Beyond that, the season picks up speed as the parties and holiday functions start coming hard upon each other. Then my family will arrive on a big silver bird from Idaho and things will swirl into a whirlwind of ho, ho, ho.


I'm not at all certain how the furkids are going to take all this holiday hilarity. The Christmas tree is always a bit of a struggle. The question inevitably arises; what is the function of this thing inside the house? The answers are different depending upon whether you ask a dog or a cat. And none of their usual answers are satisfactory to me. Oh well, we've survived it before and we shall do so again. I'm wondering if this is the year I'll actually break down and procure proper storage for the tree ornaments. A number of them are as old as my adult life and a number were made by small children who now have children of their own. I suppose I should do something more respectful than chuck them all in a plastic box and threaten anybody who looks like they are going to sit on it. I'm am skeptical of the little ornament chests with all the little drawers for ornaments. That just seems too persnickity to me. Now that I have taken custody of the cedar chest that was in my parents' house from my earliest memories, I suppose I could store the Christmas stuff in there. After all, that is where the Christmas regalia was always stored during my childhood. For me the smell of cedar is the smell of Christmas. Well, good! That's settled then. No doofy cardboard ornament storage for me.

Daffodil & Baby Lamb waiting for Vacuum Monster

I think I've been sitting here long enought that the furkids have regained their sangfroid after the Vacuum Monster's last performance. The vacuum cleaner is noisy enough, but Daffodil, the butterball corgi, insists upon defending me against all dangers, foreign and domestic, that may ensue from allowing that machine to run wild in the house. She barks the entire time it's on, charges it, bites it, and generally makes a perfect nuisance of herself. And I don't feel a bit safer. The other dogs just growl menacingly from whatever perch each has assumed. The cats ignore the machine but they complain of the dog barking. We're all a wreck when the job is done. So now we're in a more sedate configuration; each is disported in some restful position around the room, from which they can leap to my defense if the occasion demands it. Thank God the UPS guy is through delivering for the day; I thought Owen was going to wear himself to a rag alerting all and sundry of the comings and goings of the big, brown truck. A ragamuffing feral cat, who would fit comfortably in a cereal bowl, has taken up residence on my front porch. He/she won't let me get near, but does deign to clean out the bowl of food I leave on the porch. I suppose I prefer the cat to come to the front porch because, when the neighbor's cat, Nicki, comes onto the back deck and sits just outside the french doors, my cats have epizoodies on the other side of the door. I shudder to think of how everyone's dignity might come unstuck if the glass suddenly disappeared ...


I think my equipoise has been sufficiently restored that I can venture disengaging myself from the furry tentacles thrown around me and go see if there is some new way I can mess up the kitchen. Be of good cheer, y'all.