It started this morning when the sound of rain woke me up. First I thought, “It’s raining outside, not inside.” I listened. Then I thought, “Nope, it’s raining inside too,” and I went to get the pot.
Those of you who read my blog regularly may remember that the roof has leaked since we had a new roof put on 3 years ago. The roofer has alternated between ignoring my calls (the polite ones) and responding to them (the desperate I may have to sue ones). He’s been here several times and had one of his guys add another layer of shingles. The roof still leaks. (And just by the way, it didn’t leak before the new roof.) Finally I’ve given up on him and another roofer has come to take a look. He has spotted a few gaps that he says he’s going to fix…when it stops raining.
In the meantime, we have a pot and the
unpleasant sound of rain. I’ve come to hate the sound.
After I put the pot in place, my older d, who was going to an early morning hockey try-out for her school team, told me she couldn’t find her umbrella. The search for it led me to notice the huge pile of stuff where the umbrellas are supposed to go: hats, scarves (winter and summer ones), gloves, bags, books, and twigs. I don’t know why the twigs. I think there was a marble or two in the pile as well.
That was when my head exploded again. (I wrote about that on Sunday.) I’m glad none of you were here to see the bits of head scattered across the house as I started in on the piles of stuff, grumbling to the point of tears–not mine, but my younger d’s. She was home, not precisely sick, but since she’d had a fever for a couple of days, I kept her at home.
My list, my beautiful list, was shattered by the day, hundreds of things added to it, the page illegible. (Slight exaggeration on the number, none on the legibility.) Let me contrast today with yesterday.
I awoke, had breakfast, meditated, thought about my new novels. I came up with new ideas, made notes, completed everything on my reasonable (albeit added to) list. I went for a walk and took photos of Toronto murals and flowers still blooming near December. I felt at peace. I was on the right track and I could see the flower strewn path going on and on in this same peaceful way.
And then it rained inside. But at least the house is tidier. H had no fever and spent the day putting her scatterings of clothing, jewelery, toys and detritus away. I did the same and solved a computer mystery for A, which was sending his email to strange and far away places. I set M’s things aside for her to deal with. I`ve put notes on all the junk-magnetizing spots in the house that say “off limits–anything left here is garbage” or “umbrellas only, anything else is garbage”.
And tomorrow is another day even if the forecast is for rain again. I get to start with a fresh list and my head intact. Maybe I’ll keep some tape handy. Just in case.
h/t to Judith Viorst’s Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, a favourite with my kids for good reason.