One Firecracker Left
There was one firecracker left from the 4th of July and I think it landed in my pants. This morning when the feet hit the floor the day was on full bore.
It may have been the reduction in humidity and temperatures or it may have been my day to get it done. Some days just click. Dennis’ objective for the day was to get one of his prescriptions filled at Lewis Drug. I was home alone. The bed got stripped and the laundry was humming. When the bed is stripped that means that all dust bunnies under said bed are on high alert. Nothing is as satisfying as checking out all corners of the bedroom for lurking lint. Yes . . . Dennis still has flannel sheets on the bed. You would think that eventually they would just give it up and quit shedding . . . Not!
With laundry going, might as well get a kettle of boiling water going to sterilize a batch of catheters. They say a watched kettle does not boil. That is not true. A boiling kettle of latex catheters can be disastrous if left unattended. Staying close to the kitchen seemed the wisest thing to do. I dug out our favorite recipe for sugar cookies and decided that having a batch of dough ready to bake out in the evening hours would be a good treat. Starting the oven after supper doesn’t heat up the house as much as doing it mid-day.
The schedule was going according to plan. I knew . . . I just knew that when Dennis came back from the drug store and had his late breakfast, the lawn mowing would be his topic of conversation. I was not going to fight him. We have had 1½ inches of rain this week and yes . . . the grass was in need of trimming. Dennis sprayed Bug Soother on me from head to foot and I was ready to push the mower. With all of the rain the pushing was tough as the ground was soft. I looked as if I was doing aerobic lunges as I dug my feet into the ground and propelled myself forward enough to make some head ways on each swath of the grass.
Here we are at supper time and the acre has been mowed and trimmed. It looks wonderful. Here is the kicker. It is supper time! Meal times seem to be highly over anticipated. I could call a piece of cheese on a slice of bread a meal. Not so for the ole cowboy. In the regard of meals, Dennis is way too much like Dad. If the clock says it’s meal time . . . “By de-God, it’s time!” I have no idea how Dad came about whipping out that “By de-God” lingo, but he sure used it a lot when he was making a statement. Gotta love those memories and I can still hear him saying it.
After the rustled up supper, it will be relaxing baking out those sugar cookies. There will be just enough of the firecracker fizzle in my pants to pull it off.