saturday

 Yesterday was a day where I found my state of childlessness to be at an advantage. I did not a lick of anything important.

Having spent the previous evening out at the picture show, I went to bed  after midnight, woefully much later than my usual hour. If I were to tell you when I actually go to bed you might think me an old fuddy-duddy so I will spare you the hour.

To add to my charm, I woke up late. Much later than I usually wake up and I find that while it is nice to sleep in, waking up late throws me off kilter for the rest of the day. And so I did nothing. I did nothing while the mister strapped on his backpack vacuum and whizzed around the tiny casa taking care of the tiny fabric scraps on the floor, crumbs in the sofa and dust on all the odds and ends I have oh-so-artfully displayed about the place. After he vacuumed more than he should have, he cleaned the bathroom, scrubbed the tub and took care of the kitchen including mopping the black and white checkered floor that spills across the kitchen, dining nook and hallway. He cleaned his a-go-go arse off and I did nothing.

Well, that is not entirely true, I read a book. A very good book. I read a book while the mister cleaned. Ugh, that reads awful. Truth be told, I am not the best housekeeper. I am a pile-er and project doer. I layer things atop things and then wonder where my needlebook hied off to. I pile books into precarious towers and socks never get matched as they struggle out of the sock drawer at the bottom of my closet whose doors are often blocked by a puddle of vintage linens that often trip in the middle of the night as I tip-toe through the dark for a glass of water or trip to the loo. I sit and give all the mess, my mess a stern stink-eye and then I plan on the approach I should take but never actually approach any of it.

So, now you know. The mister cleans and I don't. But there is a reason behind our odd methods. Generally, he vacuums when I am not home as the dust that kicks up get busy with my allergies and well, you've heard that song before. He cleans while I take care of laundry and food stuffs. It all balances out in some way.

So while the hum of the vacuum sent vibrations rippling out through the casa, I lounged on the June bed (pictures soon) in a soft t-shirt and grey floral pajama bottoms, tissue clutched in one hand, this book in the other as the early afternoon sunlight flittered in between the blinds. There was a breeze, warm and possibly scent filled (not that I would know for certain) coupled with random pips and chirps of the hummingbirds that visit the large purple agapanthus outside the window. Occasionally I would hear the whisper of the parasols that hang from the ceiling as they brushed up against one another when an especially lusty breeze burst through (and/or the stomp-stomp-stompiness of our upstairs neighbor got stompier than usual).

By the time I finished the book, I realized it was quiet. No hum, no clatter. I poked my head out the bedroom door and craned to look down the hallway. While I was reading and daydreaming away in the bedroom, the mister was asleep on the now floral covered sofa. I smiled as the mister never gets a chance to nap and naps are favorite things to us a-go-gos.

It was a Saturday well spent even if I did not get anything done, the mister did. 

yogurt a-go-go

 a couple of weeks ago, during teacher appreciation week at the preschool, one of the parents brought us each a lovely breakfast of  a yogurt parfait in a happy mason jar. since i work as an assistant, much of the days is scrambling from one room to the next so i was not able to breakfast on the jar of delicious. i did remember to bring it home and after it traveled along on a few errands it was not nearly as pretty when i got it home as it was in the morning.

i'm not really the biggest fan of sweet yogurt. i like it in my smoothies and as a savory side of raita but never quite befriended it partied up with fruit and such. but how could i refuse a gift in a jar? an edible gift no less...so i plopped down on sofa and dipped my spoon into the gooey mess and became enraptured with what i feasted on. this was the most amazing breakfast for lunch EVER!

the following week, i had a chance to wax poetic over the pretty parfait and the creator laughed and told me of the great battle she battled to craft something both tasty and pretty.

after picking up all the ingredients for home...

it is safe to say...

i am hooked.

**it really was quite pretty in the jar with all the layers splendidly separate. the first parfait i made at home was in a jar and far from pretty. man, it takes skill to layer up yogurt in a jar.

do cloud pillows go to cloud pillow heaven?

 I had become quite attached to my cloud pillow. It replaced hippo even on our short overnights to L.A. (yup, I am a pillow hugger). It had even made it through a successful wash a handful of times. Sure it came out a bit lumpified but all it needed was a little tender lovin' and a bit o' pillow plumpin' and all was right with my happy little cloud.

The last time it went through the wash a seam split and so I hastily whipped it up with a dose of blue thread and gently added it to yesterday's wash on a gentle cycle.

Upon lifting the lid to retrieve the mister's clean socks and such, I was greeted with a most shocking site (and I must admit, after my initial scream I may have fallen to the floor in laughter). Rest well dear cloud pillow. I hope that your successor is made of tougher stuff(ing).

well that didn't last long

crackle, crackle...

pop!

i was sitting on the sofa (pics soon, i promise) watching bad cable television on dvd. i had another growing pile of unhappy tissues piling up at my side when suddenly i hiccupped.

and with a pop, my ear cleared.

i can hear again!

now if only i can get my nose to stop drip, drip, dripping.

crackles upon crackles

i've been drifting through the past two weeks in a muffled cloud of sniffs and snorts. my ears have been as clogged as the sniffer and i keep hoping they will clear soon so i can have at least that sense back. there are crackles. lots of crackles and the only thing loud is my own voice in my head. ick.

it never ends. i'm still in a tango with allergies. i know, still? yadda yadda yadd allergies...balh blah blah allergies...i am 41 years old and it seems in the throes of the longest allergy attack ever. my whole life it seems. one would think i was used to it but sadly i'm not. this latest siege has had me snurfling like some sort of sad parody of myself. i have gone through more boxes of tissue than i care to think about and the neti pot and i are on the outs. for the passed two weeks my ears have been filled with imaginery cotton and i walk around tilting my head at an angle as i questionably ask everyone "Eh?" crackle, crackle.

sigh. i've said it before, i'll say it again. i feel old. and whiney. whiney and old. and snurfley.

i sound like edith ann. i mean my voice actually sounds like hers. all i need is an enormous rocking chair. tee-hee.

so for the past few weeks i have been clutching tissue in my hands and stuffing all my pockets. i find strays in the wash and scattered bits in the bed like alien creatures who have succumbed to the sniffer. i have looked longingly at the food everyone is eating around me and wish i could taste, taste, taste. oh to enjoy a cup of tea in the morning. all i get is a crackle here and a crackle there. no tea. just crackles.

instead, i blow my nose and lecture the drips. i sniff and snort and hide out as i am a snurfled mess. i nod my head as if i can hear what people are saying and i count the days until i can visit another doctor and begin another round of evil meds.

other than the misery of this cloud i am in, i have nothing else to complain about (well...that's not exactly true, i'm still quite unhappy about that other big thing i am dealing with) and life is good. the casa is a mess but life is good.