A Sunday of long lists! We both have them: to do lists. This time his is as long as mine. The difference is that what I can't do today will have to be pushed into an already stacked line of what needs to be done on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. His items move seamlessly from day to day, as if there is no wrong day, no too late day.
And what progress do we make? He finishes work on his newer old car and so now he can move it out of sight. Only the old, old, rusty Geo remains suspended by the garage shed waiting for some miracle. Ed tells me that nothing short of that can save it anymore. (The presence of two wrecks these past weeks has been reason enough not to take photos of the farmhouse. Cars (at least these cars) are so unattractive!)
I focus my camera elsewhere. The breakfast. There's always that.
I think to myself -- one task that I really need to hustle with is the planning of the holiday menu. It's a silly game, of course, because my daughters insist on the same old items: the old ways of doing the turkey, the feel-good traditional dishes that they've known all their lives. Occasionally though, I work in something new, or maybe an updated version of something old. I search for such updates this morning. Okay. I'll fire off ideas and wait to see which will get rejected.
My, hours fly! I do understand that there isn't really time for yoga -- not today, not tomorrow. Maybe later in the week, but it wont be easy.
But, the day isn't done. I turn to helping Ed deal with the honeysuckle.
We have an unusual week of warm weather ahead (low fifties!) and so we may very well dig most of the offending bushes out. He saws, digs, heaves -- I carry it all to the huge pile (which is now nearly the length of a city block).
We work in a good, coordinated effort. Occasionally I look around and I scratch my head: weather.com and one local TV station have issued a weather advisory for today -- something about poor air quality. I cannot believe it! The sky is a dazzling blue, the air feels crisp and invigorating. What's not good about it?
Eventually we stop and we switch to the further afield errands -- Woodman's (the cheap grocery store), Farm & Fleet -- where Ed buys his blue jeans (and we have a long and impassioned discussion about how short his jeans should be: I tell him that if he, at 6'4" sees himself as needing a 34 inch length, then I don't know who is slated for the 36s and 38s. But, it's his choice and so we walk away with him grinning and the jeans barely touching the rim of his shoe).
And we go to Mounds pet store to study once again the kitty litter situation. I have to say that your comments, dear Ocean readers, were invaluable and we did make a decision that sort of combined a bunch of your suggestions. The one idea I won't do (yet) is install an in/out door for Isis. In his old age, he has developed a great resistance to the cold or wet weather. That is what pushed me to get a litter box for him: I found him sneaking off to puddle in the closet twice rather than asking to be let out. There are weeks in the winter when he never goes out. So if he is to feel happy and I'm to feel less anxious about opening closet doors -- litter box it must be.
And now it's dark. So quickly it gets dark! My older girl is here for dinner and because her husband is away tonight, we throw away any semblance of formality. Shrimp and beans, in front of the TV.
The weekend is done. My list remains long, but that's okay. Lists are always long. You just need to ignore them every now and then.