22 June 2015

It Must've Been Tuesday. He Was Wearing His "Cornflower-Blue" Tie

High and low tides . . . waxing and waning moons . . . swallows in Capistrano. Certain things happen periodically . . . predictably . . . or should in order for all to be right with the world. Rusty bought a weed-wacker for me. Stop it! No double entendre there – it’s for the lawn. Despite the fact that we want our new grass to well establish its roots, it still needs periodic trimming at the areas around the bushes. It's already scruffy in areas around the foundation.

And one day very soon I’m going to use that weed-wacker. I’ve spent so much time planting ginger and other flowers (not to mention what Cynthia’s gardeners have done), that I should strive for a nicer lawn. Periodically our grass will need trimming, but hopefully not too often. The weeding I love. The donning of my old rubber boots appropriate for grass-cutting? Not so much (must be that lost Banana Republic boot thing).

Frequent dips into the pool do not equal a shower.
We exit the pool feeling so cool and refreshed. Only later do we realize . . .  someone needs a shower. Rusty jokes: once a week, whether I need it or not. The sad reality is that we do forget a periodic shower . . . not to mention the requisite shaving of the legs and other bits. We’ll go along for a few days with a semi-established routine (I shower before bedtime, Rusty prefers the A.M.); but then things happen . . . and one afternoon you’re moving about realizing . . . I don’t believe that I’ve had a shower since . . . [don’t ask]. And let’s face it: if you can’t remember when you last washed your hair, it’s been too long.  

I’m preparing for the arrival tomorrow of my new housekeeper. Of course, for any lady south of the Mason-Dixon, this means that today it’s time to clean the house. Wow! That was a bit of stereotyping. I’m sure that women world-wide clean before their housekeepers' arrival. Yes, I’m lying again.

Today is overcast. Surely it will rain. A good day to clean the house . . . and today is moving day. Rusty’s office is being moved to the new outdoor table. Say Hallelujah. The indoors is now mine-all-mine; and this means that I can take some photos.

This weekend Rusty composed a delightful eMail update to our friends about life on the mountain. He writes beautifully, truly. But there was not one capital letter in the entire, lengthy eMail . . . and paragraph breaks were almost non-existent. Rusty is absolutely, and sadly correct: any attempt by Rusty to guest-blog would have me as suicidal as the frogs that leap over our retaining wall (we presume it’s suicide – who can say?). i mean, really, who writes without a single capital alphabet letter in sentence after sentence and in paragraphs so long that they are clearly a nod to tennessee williams, i ask you.

Now I mention Rusty's eMail because the Internet was slow over the weekend, and Rusty experienced a lengthy delay in uploading photographs. Here is just one of the many differences between me and Rusty: the man will upload a photo of the south terrace while it’s still stacked high with tool boxes, cardboard to be burned, blah, blah, blah. This is unthinkable to me. I have higher standards. Right, Kathy . . . this from the woman who hasn't paid for a haircut in over five (5) years. In any event, until today you’ve seen no photos of the dining area (with the Philip Koch painting that Rusty crated and hauled across half a continent from Texas). The area was full of boy-clutter, not to mention the fluff/fur/dust that accumulates near boy-clutter.  Staging. It’s essential to convey the way in which we periodically see our home: clean and uncluttered.

So I realized that it was time for some master bedroom photos. I was ready to break out the French matelasse coverlet and place inside the white duvet cover our down comforter . . . all in anticipation of my little photo-shoot. Again, what's up with me and white in this land? Anyway, that’s when I realized: one should periodically wash the bed linens. It’s been four weeks. FOUR WEEKS on the same sheets. Now believe me when I tell you, we brought plenty of linens. New 1500TC linens, shipped and never opened (Rusty is going to flip tonight on these sheets). So it’s not as if we needed to do laundry in order to sleep on clean linens. Do I get any points for my candor in acknowledging the filth? No, not one; I agree. And let's recall that a terrier frequently sleeps on this bed, too.

When Rusty leaves the office today at 5:00, I’ll pick some recently planted Hawaiian ginger and stage the office/table for a photograph. The man believes that I’ve totally gone ‘round the bend. Can you say, Stop the madness? I spend hours having conversations with Jill. She doesn't mind my ramblings . . . or if she does she's kind enough to never mention it. And Jill rarely interrupts my well-articulated plans for the future of Mil Colinas with her own thoughts and ideas.

Showers, shaved legs, fresh linens, and a bath for that dog. Once a week, whether we need it or not. Lo que hay.