Indian Summer Sunday

In the Electric Mist...

Enh, nothing electric about it, I just like the sound of the title (it's a novel by James Lee Burke, In the Electric Mist with the Confederate Dead).

I missed last Sunday's Eucharistic Guardian Hour. I'm supposed to be at St. Fatty's from 5 am until 6 am and last week, I forgot to set my alarm. I woke up at exactly 6 and rushed around the house, thinking, I've still got time, I've still got time. I really do have to learn how to tell time. Even with digital clocks, it just doesn't stick. I also have a terrible time with the blue and red on faucets meaning cold or hot. Anything I physically saw that was hot when I was a child was blue - the blue flame from the furnace or the stove. Anyway, it's one of those seconds when I stand there, gormless. It didn't take me long to realize last week that I had missed.

This morning, I woke up at 3:30. And when I went outside, saw fog covering the neighborhood. And the streets. And even St. Fatty's.

When I'd done my oddly difficult hour, I went to the little park by the lake near St. Fatty's and had breakfast. The fog was gone and all that was left was a dawn-tinged mist, with the full moon quickly setting.

Nice.

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The Big Kahuna Rummage Sale

I think that I and it are about to part ways. It's just more aggravation than it's worth. Way more aggravation. It's turned into such a crunchy thing, even with the Haitians carrying bags the size of me on their heads, walking back to their vans. I should have gone yesterday when it rained. The Crunchy Ones were probably working at the food bank or declaring Crunchville a nuclear free zone. Oy.

There was a line to get into every building, every tent. Everything was picked over, but there were still lines. But, erm, I still managed to find about a dozen, um, books. Because you can never have too many books.

And I saw a Crunchette un-ironically buying Politically Correct Bedtime Stories. Ahem.

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In at Last!

I'm now able to come and go from whichever door of my house that I see fit. I have new locks and deadbolts on the doors. The side door lock had just stuck, after being petulant for years. The front door had a weird key that no locksmith within 20 miles could replicate. So now I have shiny new brass levered door knobs. I love them. I love my lever. There have been dozens of times when I've had both hands full and a simple nudge on a lever with my elbow would have opened the door.

The locksmith looked faint when he came in.

I guess it's time to start cleaning again.

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Intervention

Tonight on a very special A&E presentation of Intervention, we'll be meeting with Becs and see how her addiction has spiraled out of control. Money and time are rapidly swirling down the drain and Becs does not comprehend the extent of this.

Becs is seated comfortably on her couch. She is surrounded by cats and appears uneasy.

Becs: So...um...I guess you're here to talk about my cats. But I can't understand why. There was a time when I had 14. Or 15. I forget. But never more than 15. And now I only have nine.

Annoying undertrained interventionist (AUI): Becs, we understand that you take care of your cats as best you can. We're not here to talk to you about your cats.

Becs (cradling a cat named Taylor, who was recently mistaken for a pillow in a photograph): My weight? I mean, I know I'm very overweight but I've pretty much given up that battle. I know I have this thing for Oliver Kita chocolate, a love I dare not speak its name, but I only go up to Rhinebeck maybe twice a year.

AUI: It's not about your weight. Or your very reasonable consumption of Oliver Kita chocolate. In fact, in light of recent studies on the health benefits of chocolate, especially dark chocolate, we think you should probably eat twice as much Oliver Kita chocolate as you do.

Becs (bewildered): Oh...then...?

AUI: Becs, come down to the basement with us.

Becs follows as bidden. It is not clean and far from tidy.

AUI points: What is that?

Becs: Oh, that's a bed from IKEA in case I ever have a tenant again. The cats used to like to sleep on it.

AUI: They don't anymore?

Becs: No. I don't know why.

AUI: Becs, will you tell me what's on the bed?

Becs (rummaging through): Oh! This is some really cool fun yarn that I bought at Amazing Savings. Isn't it pretty? The Lion Suede, I love. I got it for 99 cents a skein and it's $7 a skein at Michael's. Ooo, and some chenille in this beautiful bright red and fun fur yarn in a purpley color. Ah! This I got to make afghans for the Old Soldiers' Home. Pound of Love, it's called. Not soft, but very warm and very washable.

AUI (nudges toe on the other side of the bed): And this?

Becs: I bought those tubs yesterday to store the yarn so the cats won't get into it.

AUI: Okay. Let's start putting all this yarn in the tubs, okay? How do you want to sort it?

Becs: Well, I guess the afghan-stuff yarn in one tub. Oh. It only took eight skeins to fill it up. Um. I've got at least...gosh, it must be twelve more skeins I've got upstairs.

AUI: We'll put them aside for the moment. How about we put the "fun" yarn in another container and then we'll have that last one left over, right?

Becs (observing the bed): That's only two bags. There are at least four other bags here. Two or three in the living room. A couple in the study and my bedroom.

AUI: And?

Becs, now whispering in shock: The entire back seat of my car is filled with bags of yarn. Oh, dear God. What have I done?

AUI: Are you really going to buy anymore yarn at Amazing Savings?

Becs: It seems...I just didn't know...But there are projects that have just a few pieces missing. Just a few!

AUI: Do you see that you have a problem?

Becs wails: No! Don't take my yarn! Please! It means so much to me! Knitting group!

AUI: Enablers.

Becs: Presents!

AUI: Central heating.

Becs: Therapeutic value!

AUI: Cleaning the house often nets the same therapeutic value.


Tune in next week when we see if Becs has been able to get control of her yarn addiction or if her mindset of "she with the most skein wins" reigns supreme. Next week, on a very special edition of Intervention.