Waking up to a bright new world

It’s a fairly well-known fact that I take a nap every afternoon. I’m religious about it. Friends and family know not to call or come by between two and four. I’ve read a lot about research supporting the healthful aspects of napping, and I’m certainly not one of those who claim to feel worse after a nap then before. It’s a lifelong habit, inherited from my father, and now that I’m retired, I’m free to indulge every afternoon.

By the time two o’clock rolled around today, I was more than ready to sleep. The plumbing saga continued, with a crew of professional diggers who belied the heritage of the gravedigger in Hamlet. These were cheerful fellows—at least four of them—who pushed countless wheelbarrows filled with rock to a waiting truck. But they seemed to laugh and joke among themselves  while they worked. They were not impressed by Sophie, though, and I had to keep her in the house, despite her protests.

The wonderful woman who twice a month cleans my cottage texted to say she had to wait for repairmen at her own home. Jordan and I sort of gave up hope, but a little after one she showed up. I asked for a quick cleaning—laundry, bed linen, vacuum, etc.—but she was two steps ahead of me. She was going to do those things and clean the bedroom, then close me in the bedroom to nap while she cleaned the rest of the cottage. She took it in stride when I said she could not flush the commode but was undone when the plumbers cut off the water. “I can’t clean bathrooms,” she complained.

So that was the state of things when I went to sleep—a dirty house, an unflushed, stopped up commode, and no water. By then, the diggers had finished, and the plumbers had started their repair, which they promised me they could get done today. Sophie was wandering around, still wanting to go outside, a bit bewildered by all that was going on.

I woke up to a new world. Zenaida was gone, but the cottage sparkled and smelled clean and good. The bathroom was clean, the commode had been flushed and cleaned, and the plumbers were gone. I texted my thanks to Zenaida and called the plumbing company, where they said they weren’t quite through—all the dirt they took out has to be replaced and the area cleaned up. But the important repair was done, and Sophie was happily surveying her kingdom in the back yard. I felt like a new person.

Tonight at happy hour we celebrated Mary’s birthday—it’s one of the big ones, and she will  be in New York on the actual day, so we partied a bit ahead with a spread of cheese, pickled herring, blue cheese dip, and hummus. Prudence made chocolate dipped strawberries and strawberry buttercream frosting, which Jordan put on chocolate cupcakes. Can you guess that the birthday girl’s favorites are chocolate and strawberry?

A happy day, though it ended with Jordan and me searching Amazon for the N95 masks recommended when—not if, according to the CDC—the corona virus erupts here. Many affordable versions are “currently not available,” which tells you we are late to the party. But we did order four masks. I have this twisted logic, that I hope is true—if we spend money on the masks, we won’t need them. Still I worry ahead about quarantines and our country’s lack of preparedness.

Stock Show weather—or not?

Fort Worth's annual Southwestern Livestock Exposition and Rodeo opened this weekend, and true to form, the weather reflected it. Yesterday was so dreary and bone-chilling damp that I just wanted to hibernate. It was a nap kind of day, so I napped and when I got up I was supposed to go pick up my groceries from Central Market’s curbside pick-up. But I wimped out, called them and asked if they could hold them until this morning. They are so easy to work with and so eager to please that they said “Of course. Don’t worry about it.”

Early this morning, when it was still gray, I glanced at the weather forecast onscreen and thought it indicated Stock Show weather for the next two weeks. But as the sun really got about it’s business, it rose in a cloudless, clear blue sky. And while it was cool, it didn’t chill your bones.

So I set out for Central Market, but I had one heck of a time unfogging my windshield—nearly froze myself doing it. (Word is telling “unfogging” is not a word, but what else would you call it? Defogginjg?) I had to sit in the driveway for a bit, and when I set out it was still a little fuzzy on the driver’s side. Of course, perfectly clear on the passenger side.

At Central Market, for the first time ever, I had to text to tell them I was there—they usually notice and come right out. When I said again that I was sorry, the young woman said, “Don’t you dare apologize!” She was gone a little longer than usual, but when she came out, she explained she thought they bunch of basil they gave me was too scrawny, so she went back to produce for another. I absolutely love the service.

Jordan says if she picks up my groceries, they say to her, “Where’s Judy?”

Sophie doesn’t like Stock Show weather either. It gets her off her schedule. Sometimes she refuses to go out during the day, which means nature calls her in the middle of the night. Maybe it’s the dampness, but she’s snuffling more lately, and a couple of days she seemed downright lethargic.

When it stormed in the night recently, she came to my bed but no amount of encouragement on my part could get her to jump up on it. She kept jumping with her front feet, just bouncing the bed enough to keep me awake. Then she began almost morning—little low sounds deep in her throat—from fear, I presume. I decided, with the typical three-in-the-morning gloom, that age was catching up with her, and arthritis prevented her from jumping all the way onto the bed, something she’s always done. But the next morning I watched her nimbly jump up into her favorite sleeping chair. Both of us needed today’s sunshine.

A measure of how spoiled I am: we have a wonderful woman who cleans both the house and the cottage every other Tuesday. We missed a time over the holidays so by last Tuesday things—including my laundry—had really piled up. (I don’t have a washer in the cottage and getting into the house myself is daunting, let alone with a load of clothes). She called to say she had the flu, but Jordan arranged for her to clean just the cottage this morning. She texted again to say she couldn’t make it. I cannot exaggerate my disappointment.

I got busy, cleaned the kitchen area, emptied all the trash, got out the laundry and spotted the things that needed it—I am an incredibly messy cook. Jordan is doing my laundry, and Jacob will take out the trash. The rest of the cottage will have to be gloriously messy and dirty for another week and a half. I love to come home after she’s been here, because my cottage glows and smells so clean!