Cootersnap!

... and luckily, I'm getting one soon. In seven days and counting, my dear friend Blake, in dire need of a respite from Seattle, will be here for a long weekend (although the forecast is calling for yet more wretched rain). And while he needs the time relaxing more than me, this gal is anticipating the time off more than Das Poog looks forward to going to Grandma's house where all the treats live with The Most Benevolent Dog-Woman On Earth.

But let me tell you: there is nothing like the imminent arrival of someone in your home to realize what a poogsty it is. All of a sudden it hits: the antique bottle collection from your grandfather is in serious need of dusting. The other bedroom needs its floor back from all the crap that's way too easy to "store" in there. The dust rhinos need herding and sucked up the elephant trunk of the Hoover. The sofa needs to be spurned and burned 'cuz there just ain't enough Febreeze in the world to tame Gus' body odor, drool and lordy-knows-what. Sweeping, dusting, washing, junking... it becomes a strange mantra. And with each load of crap that gets hauled away, you think you're that much closer to done. Hell no. Because then there's the best room of the house... the yard.

This past weekend I snipped all the suckers off the Japanese tree lilacs, mowed, pruned the maple (that grows faster than the creeping charlie in the back yard), planted cannas, transplanted ferns, filled the porch box with vinca vines and ageratum and laid field stone. I found time to have cocktails, too. Of course. And go to a party. To have more cocktails. But there's so much more to be done. And I, alas, am only one woman. Torn between two clovers... feelin' like a fool...

Anyway, Jason laughingly said I have OCD regarding my yard. He might have something there and that's just fine. But it's inside these four walls that are wigging me. Have you ever noticed that the more work you do on something, thirty other things beg for attention? The more you clean, the more dirt appears? My house will never be perfect like my sister's McMansion. It will never be sterile like my mom's condo. I'm starting to realize that pigpennedness is part of my personality. I live in my humble abode and dammit, I LOVE IT. It's homey and it's mine. Y'all can come to my home and not be afeared of trackin' in or makin' a mess. That's the poog's job.





Welcome to Chez GHOSTRADISH. It's time for a cocktail.