On Sunday evening I wrote: This weekend was a frenzy of effectiveness, a kind of term-time nesting equivalent. T.’s mother is in town and has mostly entertained Violet, and T. and I have: Cleaned up the yard, pruned and weeded; grocery shopping; tightened the roof rack on the car; scrubbed a bathroom; made two meals with a lot of leftovers; cleared out Violet’s “cubby” and found new homes for her sports equipment (three sizes of soccer balls, two sizes of basketballs, foam football, etc); moved cardboard boxes to the recycling bin; ordered new sandals for V.; cleaned out the “sports closet” in my office; fixed a flat tire on my bike; given away five pairs of V.’s old shoes. T. has gone running (I may, this evening, possibly) and I have made two handouts about writing policy papers. Now I am pouring a glass of wine.
Today is another full day (kayak before thunderstorms, clear Violet’s desk and set up homework area, work on the photo book, take the hundred-year-old a/c to the curb, etc) and then BOOM, it’s Reg Day.
Two minutes later, I was so inspired by making that list, I went down in the basement to get “an armload of cardboard” to dump in the recycling bin. The box I chose predated us and contained pre-printed business envelopes. The bottom had completely rotted away and so had the floor-side ends of the envelopes. In one spot there was a fist-size lump of green-yellow mold that may possibly have been the first harbinger of alien invasion. Two heavy-duty trash bags and a pair of disposable latex gloves later, it was all out of the house. Lesson: don’t be inspired. (But I did run after Violet’s bedtime.)