Showing posts with label unexpected company. Show all posts
Showing posts with label unexpected company. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

I always make my bed

I do mean I always make the bed. Except for today. Now remember, my husband works second shift, so he gets home at 1 A.M. and sleeps until 7 or 8 o'clock in the morning. Me, I'm up by four o'clock, most days. When Cliff wakes up, he hollers at me to turn on the waiting coffee pot; I take his first couple of cups to him in bed when it's done; and, believe it or not, he often eats his oatmeal there, too. Laying on his side.

So you can see that a lot of time elapses between my getting up and the time the bed is vacated. When Cliff finally gets moving, I make the bed. Normally I do that whether anything else gets done to the house or not.

For some reason I didn't get to it today. We went for our walk and then hit the road to do some shopping. On the way back, we ate Chinese with Congressman Ike Skelton. When we got home, I hurriedly made coffee and started once again sifting through my mom's old treasures, which were scattered across the living room floor along with various boxes I was using for sorting the stuff.

Cliff had gone to work and the grandson had just stepped outside to head to his job; but he came back in, saying, "Grandma, there's a man outside that says he used to live here. He wants to see the house."

The guy was a nice-looking fellow, perhaps ten years younger than I. The grandson was hovering nearby looking worried, but I told him I was fine, to go ahead and go to work.

Perhaps twenty years ago this same thing happened, only it was this man's brother who stopped by. And as I recall, the house was in an awful state that day, too.

Anyhow, this man was very personable, and told me how he fell through the floor in one spot when termites had invaded the place. It was his dad, he said, who put a bathroom and running water in the house; when they moved here, there was just an outhouse.

If only I had made the bed. And picked up all my mom's clutter in the living room.

Please folks, don't tell Flylady.

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