Escape Mode, the Money Pit, and How 'Bout Those Mayans...

I spent the weekend escaping: Saturday in NY, Sunday in Chicago...metaphorically speaking, of course.  In the real world I walked the dogs, did chores, cooked food, but in my other world?  I read my book; well, two books actually--hence the NY/Chicago trips.  I unplugged from the internet, gave my overworked, beleaguered brain a little holiday, and just checked out.  It was great.  Really great.  One advantage to living by yourself: you get to do stuff like that and nobody gives you grief about it.  

The Saturday book was so good, in fact, that I stayed up until 2:30 in the morning to finish it, then before I switched off the light, I downloaded the second book to my Kindle, ready to forge ahead with the series the minute I was ready, later in the day. 

I fell asleep thinking about the pros and cons of such instant gratification.  I'm definitely in the pro camp...

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Today's been busy with dog appointments at the vet, scheduling my own appointment with the optometrist--because the new glasses aren't exactly working right, then a long convoluted trip to Lowe's and Home Depot to deal with some ongoing issues with the Money Pit, one being a leak in the drip irrigation system that I have already tried to fix twice this Summer. 

Duct tape has failed me.  

Yesterday, while talking with Jan (BFF) on our usual Sunday phone call, she told me about this new tape that she used on a submerged water pump that is still holding after months underwater.  Mighty Mend-It Tape.  (You gotta love that name, if nothing else).  Since I had to go to Lowe's today to special order some fixtures for that ridiculous goddamn California bathtub I have (and yes, ka-frigging-ching on that order), I thought I would look for the tape.  Lowe's didn't carry it, but just like Jan said, Home Depot did. 

So, I had planned to fix the leak this afternoon, but it has turned into yet another humid and scorchingly miserable day.  And holy crap.  When is this going to stop?  I am beyond tired of being hot and sweaty, and having to curtail my outside chores due to the very real possibility of spontaneous human combustion or heat stroke.  Buggers.

Ah well.  Saturday is September 1st, and a few weeks later--Autumnal Equinox on Sept 22nd--is the first day of Fall.  So maybe, at last, glory hallelujah and God save the Queen, the end might be coming.  

And no, I don't mean that stupid Mayan it-makes-no-sense-that-the-world's-going-to-end-but-stupid-people-are-going-to-freak-out-anyway crap.  I just mean the end of this blasted heat.

Lost Weekend

I've spent the past few days cleaning the house from top to bottom--literally, since it's a two-story building.  My realtor thought Sunday might be good for an Open House.  I was more or less fine with the idea until I started looking around the place.  Now don't get me wrong: I keep the house fairly tidy.  What I don't normally do is sweep the eaves of cobwebs, wash the wrought iron rails on both decks, or sweep out the two-car garage.  So, besides the inside, I had to tackle the outside.  To say I've had enough is putting it mildly.

Just as the realtor was pulling into the drive, with a car behind her, I was finishing the last little bit of work.   I loaded the boys in the car and headed down the mountain, sweat still running down my temples.  Oh, I didn't mention it's been abnormally hot these past few days?  I didn't point out that the humidity has been acclimating me for my next trek across Jupiter?

Of the people who came for the viewing--whilst the boys and I had to find somewhere to go for two hours--one couple seemed very interested.  He's retired State Police, she's with the DA's office.  (Guess it will definitely be full disclosure on my part then.)  The only hitch?  They're having trouble selling their own place.  Huh.  Really?  Get in line.

Open House over, I'm home, too hot, dogs are laying on the floor panting from the heat, and the excitement.  Cleaning, like weeding, is hopelessly ungratifying and only lasts for a moment, so I'm going now to have a tall, cold glass of Lambrusco, kick my feet up, and appreciate the momentary sparkle of a super clean house.