This is my Thursday-morning post. Note the time.
Greeted The Tamara and spent no little time getting the dish and seeing the pics from Blogorado (Oh! The things I have seen! Oh! The stories I have been told!) and then it was nose to the millstone, shoulder to the oar and throwing rings into my hat, or whatever it is the kids say these days, on A Project:
Spent the last three and a half hours, or a little more, in the basement, folding laundry, rearranging, discovering long-lost socks, moving things around, shoving heavy things, dropping the higher thread count cotton sheets when refolding them (they're like oiled glass! Flannel's so much better, but too hot half the year), sweeping and generally having all manner of fun.
--For a given value of "fun."
Why all this excitement? Because the plumber has been scheduled, in theory for the 8 to 12 window tomorrow, and the cleanout is the farthest, deepest, darkest corner of Roseholme Cottage, way, way back in a corner underneath the laundry-folding table. Your standard-issue plumber does not fit in there so well even if the under-table space wasn't full of big plastic bins containing bedding, which means a whole lot of things have got to move.
Moved they got and now I must get, too, off to bed; the alarm arrives with the dawn and the shape of the morning will be not at all usual.
Geesh, I hope the sewer pipe can be cleared without too much expense or drama.
CHICAGO RAILROAD FAIR, 1948
3 days ago