It is end September and Florida is still hot and humid, but then again that fresh ocean air that sweeps over the state is so worth it.
I found myself asking a coworker what her beauty secret was for keeping her hair straight even though she has curly hair. She shared the product and combing technique she uses and yes, I went to the store today and totally forgot to pick up the product.
Some days are like that. If I don’t put it on my list, I may or may not remember it.
Yet a train of thought flew through my mind of how sometimes I complain about little silly stuff, like the weather, or traffic (well if people would use their blinkers, be considerate and kind, that would be a non-issue), or congestion at the grocery store.
And I thought to myself, self, why do you complain about such things?
How about be thankful for the changing weather, or the fact I have a car, or that I have access to grocery stores and can get most things I need?
My how the dust has gathered in my bedroom, which presently looks like a book and greeting card hoarder lives here. (Maybe I am exaggerating a little bit.)
I figured out why I have so many books, besides being bookish and loving to read and actually consume a book, curling up with coffee and tenderly turning the pages, and the feeling you get as you read page by page and get lost for a few hours in the land of who knows where or what is this new project I can do .. it is because as a kid I had no siblings and books entertained me for hours. But as a fast reader, I ran out of reading material quickly.
To me, the closest thing to an earthly hell would be a house without books to read, notebooks or journals, pens to write with .. devoid of card sending or letter writing materials.
When I finished reading my books, I read cereal boxes, and then some of my mom’s nursing books for school, and our encyclopedia set.
I know someone, somewhere is saying hello .. with the internet you now have a treasure trove to choose from to satisfy your literary longings.
Self help books are cool. I love non-fiction, as well as fiction set in England or New York.
But the room is dusty.
Slowly, I am simplifying, with a goal that I can come in here and just breathe.
I am sure you are thrilled with the idea of house cleaning (for real?), but to me it is part of making a home, and making a day great, or splendid.
Someone has to polish the teapots of the world and set the table for a brand new day.
My cat Molly Moo sends her regards. As do Peebs, Winter Moo, and Oreo. I still wonder what she would look like in a cat dress, posed next to a teacup.
Ah, the fancy minds of writers.