Dear Reader,
A thank you to Bruno Mars, for showing up on the radio this morning and accompanying me to the café with Just Might. (We will not be doing a deep dive on the lyrics; we just appreciated the energy.) Also for covering the music here that is never to my taste, but which AirPods mostly obscure with “Uptown Funk.”
And damn you, Google Docs, for not making accent marks easier to add.
Today is another hot-poker day: it would have been my youngest sister’s birthday.
Word Raccoon does not count my blessings; she drags them over to me in her teeth and drops them at my feet where I can either acknowledge them, now, or trip over them.
I get it, mangy raccoon. I get it.
At least I’m not in my bathrobe watching You’ve Got Mail for the billionth time. I’m at the cafe plotting my summer, considering poetry, although honestly: does the world need another grief poem?
But if you don’t take out the emotional trash, the house starts to stink. The writing suffers.
Anyway, let’s discuss summer household projects, shall we?
I want to paint things, wallpaper things, rearrange things, make the house feel more alive. Poetry hisses at anything ugly or untended, unless something is purposely ugly. Then poetry adores noticing it.
Yesterday’s foretaste of heat divine reminded me that I’d better finish the upstairs projects before July turns the second floor into Satan’s attic, so I’m thinking WR and I ought to start there. Where the Big Bookshelf handed down by my Mawgy resides. (Cue the dramatic music.)
It’s bare wood, so first I have to unload all the books, then sand, prime, paint, wallpaper behind the shelves, and inevitably spiral into reconsidering my entire book organization philosophy.
WR rejects organization systems on spiritual grounds. She prefers literary surprises scattered all about the house. Though she does love how books sorted by color look.
Here’s a list for the summer that Stanley helped me organize. Honestly, I’d love to finish them all and some sidequests, but if I can accomplish even half of them, poetry will kiss my hand.
I hope.
Easy-ish Weekend Wins
- put up mirror trim (I want to write how hard could it be, but every time I say that, I regret it.)
- make a dishwasher curtain
- assemble the bathroom cabinet (I plan on attempting this later today. Fingers crossed.)
- paint hall walls (Ooh…this weekend might be just right for this.)
- add fun paint to door edges just because (I’m brewing up designs for it, little secret slivers of color you’ll only see if you pay attention.)
Medium Projects
- bookshelf overhaul (DO SOON! Because coming heat. Also…the hall paint is also going to be used on the bookshelf so maybe the bookshelf first and then hall??)
- downstairs bathroom trim (Ugh – can we delegate that, WR?)
- figure out cleaning tool storage because we do not decorate with steam mops, WR!
“Research ONLY So We Don’t Cry in July” But also we LURVE the possibilities!
- refinishing the kitchen cabinets
- dining room ceiling options
- bathtub regrouting (Gross.)
- headboard possibilities
Then there are the sidequests: rearranging, deep cleaning, finding homes for new decor, and, for instance, finishing the mirror for my desk project.
Oh mirrors, you Friends of Narcissus, why are you so expensive?
So naturally I decided to Frankenstein one together from a thrifted beaded frame and a makeup mirror I already own.
The frame originally contained a unicorn, but WR liberated it from captivity and set it trotting.
The mat I bought looked black but there was a hidden gold mat underneath, at which point WR snatched it and yelled, “Now we’re talking!”
I just need to trim and glue everything together. Possibly paint the frame too, because at the moment the color palette looks like it lost a fight in a Michael’s parking lot.
WR says not to forget she intends to write poetry all summer too.
Naturally. That’s why we’re doing all of this, WR.
A songwriter in Nashville once told us he wooes his muse with fresh flowers and candles. Aside: never play Boggle with him. He’s intense. LOL.
WR and I are more “show up willing, show up unwilling, but show up” writing types.
Still, we’ve been known to employ strategies.
Nope. Different post, Word Raccoon.
This morning WR showed me how her bag of treasured tidbits is growing. She’s such a curious creature she’d probably be fascinated by someone’s pocket lint.
She just can’t help it.
dremadrudge.com 