Wretched Excess phone
I do not think we will need to buy any new beach towels for this place for about the next 1000 years. Or LL Bean style comforters. Or blankets or sheets. Or garbage bags for that matter. Because garbage bags are what you store all that stuff in for the winter. To keep it away from the moths. And the mice and things. Not that we’ve ever had moths or mice around here, knock on wood big time. I won’t bother to go into too much detail about all the kitchen stuff. The Commander comandeered that space and arranged it to fit her own requirements. I did hear her mumbling about how many sets of steak knives (yes sets) and maybe some of the grandchilden could use some. And I suppose maybe they could although I think my kids only eat steak when I cook it and they are being polite.
Anyway, I guess The Commander was less than thrilled with all of my flailing around in *her* kitchen yesterday because I was obviously not welcome. So I headed up the ladder and started to work on sorting out the mess I made last September when we closed the place up for the winter. It was a mess! Some vague memories of flinging bedding randomly into garbage bags slowly came into focus.
I spent a bit of time this morning pulling bedding out of all those garbage bags and trying to make my feeble brain put some order into the chaos. I mucked around under the eaves and collected all of the garbage bags into one and chucked it off to one side. We are not doing compulsive hoarding around here. This is just the result of 50 years of multiple-generational cabin life.
I laughed when Pengo Janetto came upstairs as I was mucking around under the eaves and said that she used to be afraid of the eaves. But I also understood. Of course, an opening in the wall leading to a dark space could harbor all kinds of ghosties and goblins and spitfires and things for a young child. I’m scared of under the eaves too but more for the adult reason of trying to store more stuff there than the structure can withstand. The eaves (and the whole second story) weren’t there until I was 30. Pengo has never known anything different. Under the eaves is the 1990s equivalent of the vampires I used to have to fight off at the outhouse.
The sheets and towels and things are still disorganized. I did my best for the time being. The Commander has the kitchen arranged the way she wants it. I have taken my first kayak ride. Summer has begun and it’s gonna be in the 90s here next week. Which is a little scary. But I won’t be here…
Good night. –KW
Posted from my loverly iPhone. Corrections and edits will undoubtedly happen when I faaarr up my MacBook at the Dancing Crane tomorrow morning.
May 21st, 2010 at 8:50 pm
The 90s?? We are in the 50s here and rainy. It doesn’t feel much like spring, much less summer. I need to organize some closets; I have no excuse that this is even a summer cabin.
May 22nd, 2010 at 9:30 am
Oh the Dancing Crane! Have a coffee for me too!
I am marveling at the concept of summer starting. I have had to fire up my woodstove every day to ward off the Northwest chill, and we even had a blasting wind storm last week that rated as a tornado in eastern WA.
90’s? Inconceivable at this time.
Wish I was there walking the beach with you!
Aimee
May 22nd, 2010 at 10:55 am
90’s in the Sault is pretty scary even in July or August. It’s supposed to be near 90 all this week in STL, and that’s above average for here at this time. (Yesterday the high was only in the high 60’s, so it’s a big jump.) Methinks the meteorologists are going to have interesting jobs in this era of climate change.