Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Monday, June 28, 2004

Saturday, Part Two

Got back, saw the aforementioned gaping garage door, unloaded chairs, unloaded children, got the shopping list. We needed meat and squeeze condiments and some chips and a soft drink or two and pickles and something to clean the accumulated ground-in grime off the kitchen floor. Decided to go back to Target and see if they had something slightly lighter in color to match the wood handrail on the stairs.

Off then, to Target, where I found that there was nothing lighter unless it was that weird pickled look, or white. Got the bookcase we looked at the night before, but not before opening it up on the ends to make sure it hadn’t been crushed in transit. Trust me, I’ve been burned enough on this to know to check first. Manhandled all cumbersome 80 pounds of it over on top of a shopping cart and headed toward the door. Paid, and out to the van, pretended it was Pat Leahy and I was Dick Cheney, and finally managed to get it into the back with only the slightest bit of muscle pain.

On to Winn-Dixie. Did a mad power-dash through the store, grabbing up my stuff and then headed toward the checkout, only to see through the doors dark looming clouds gathering in the sky. Oh boy.

Home, unload groceries frantically, unload verbally on kids for having ONCE MORE gotten all of their junk out into the den floor--does NO ONE not know we have to get the place CLEANED UP!? Ordered them to get it cleaned up, or else, then got them to set up some more of the chairs in the den, then it was time to go outside. Get out lawnmower and crank it up to see if there’s any way I can get it cut before the rain sets in. Usually, the walks behind the Oracle of Murray are relaxing times of inhaling exhaust fumes, but I was in a particularly foul black mood--I couldn’t see how anything was going to get done in time. And the grass was thick and deep, and damp, and I had to empty the bag every few rounds, and then it would spritz some more rain, and then I would go back to my internal rant about them there lazy chilluns.

Front cut (with great vigor), no downpours, start on back.

Finally, about halfway through the back yard I got my mind settled back down--more than likely due to the post-adrenaline rush crash, as well as just plain old tiredness. Finally got all wrapped up and through dumping out the 20th bushel of clippings about 7:00, a task made all the longer by having to stop twice and retighten the blade. How it managed to cut, I don’t know.

Inside, ate two wieners out of the microwave that were left over from Reba and the kids’ supper, and then it was floor cleaning time.

I had gotten a giant bottle of Spic and Span--I poured it out directly on the floor and got the mop after it, and…

Not much.

It got a bit of the dirt up, but the floor was still mostly a gray color. Which would be fine if it was gray instead of white. Reba came through on the way to the laundry room and expressed little hope of getting it looking good again, short of just replacing the whole thing.

Amazing what the prospect of having to spend money will do to you.

I got a little scrub brush from under the sink and tried a corner of the floor by the stairs. AaaahhhhAAH! The secret! Just a little elbow grease! Which really got old after about ten minutes. When I had only managed to do about a three foot square of floor.

For the next hour and a half, I knelt down and did the Cinderella act of scrubbing floors with a brush. Pour Spic and Span, scrub, rinse with cloth. Repeat. Then get new rinse water. I finally had to get one of the doormats to kneel on. Tried to figure out how tile and carpet guys do this for a living. Luckily, I had the television turned to PBS, which was running a show about ”Polka Passion.” Hooray! Accordions! And then, after that was Keeping Up Appearances. Hooray! English humor! They made the time spent wrecking my kneecaps just FLY by! As the kids would finish getting their baths upstairs, they would each in turn come down and comment favorably on my progress. Hard to stay mad at them forever. They are useful for constant positive reinforcement, you know.

But once it was done (after using the entire big bottle of Spic and Span), it was a sight to behold. Not necessarily a shiny sight, but a clean sight nonetheless. Moved the table and chairs back in, fixed one of the folding tables at the end, covered everything with the long paper tablecloth, then revacuum the den ONCE MORE.

Then, time to get the bookcase assembled! You know, what all normal people do at 10 o’clock at night. Put the major subassemblies together in the den, then took the pieces upstairs. Reba had moved all the books out of the way, and I plopped down in the floor very nearly ready to just keel over. Sides, bottom, middle shelf all cam-locked together; top, front rails, then the backing nailed on. Set into position, shelf clips, shelves. Books. 11:00 o'clock. Shower. Bed.

Sunday. I can’t move!

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