Just call me 'Slug', folks.
Why is it, I've all this brim n' bravado going on first thing each morning ... but let me stop for lunch, and not an hour later I'm sound asleep on the nearest upholstered something or another.
For the time being, I'm wide awake and wanted to stop to share a few letters. (Gosh forbid, I do something useful after 5 on a Friday eve!)
Dear Estate Sale facilitators,
'Not sure why, but I've never been to an estate sale before. Witnessing Kim's treasures, week after week, must have been gnawing at my subconscious, because when DH said we probably need new dining room chairs, I jumped. Not only was he willing to drive, I learned he used to go estate sales all the time!
I was unreasonably excited this morning -- like an 8 year-old on her way to the State Fair. Except this 'fair' was the area known as Sun City ... where golf carts regularly vie with autos for the right of way.
Not long after entering Home #1, I was taken aback by an inexplicable sadness.
I never came out and asked, but had a strong sense the home owners were deceased..... their survivors uninterested in what miscellany remained.
And what an assortment of the everyday! It was like the Mr. and Mrs. had stepped out to church or to the store and never returned. Except for food stuffs, everything else one could imagine was there for the taking. Crazy, because I certainly didn't know the home's previous occupants ... but I felt odd touching the kitchen crockery, their personal bath effects. Even the staggering amount of cleaning supplies at the ready seemed like an intrusion.
No worries! By Homes #3 and #4 I'd gotten over myself. Unfortunately, we didn't find any dinette chairs, and the 3 boxes I'd stowed in DH's truck remained empty.
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| Pardon the photo bomber! |
The sweet carpet runner I found for DH's bathroom looks perfect, but I don't think I'll be in a hurry to repeat the estate sale experience.
Dearest His n' Hers Offspring,
If some evening we shouldn't come home, please take what you will -- then run over the rest with the biggest, baddest truck you can find!
I'm not especially fond of this house, but I can't bear the thought of strangers walking about and sharing their own perceptions.
Dear N.Y. Deli,
You really, really ought to put a disclaimer on your menu. Perhaps something akin to those warnings on driver's side mirrors: "Objects may be larger than what they appear."
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| Pastrami and Pepperoni omelet |
I can't wait for the weather to cool and return (time and again!) for your chicken matzah-ball soup.
Dear Bloggy friend,
I'm sooo excited meet you tomorrow night!
(BTW, I'll be the one in the purple top, whose left cheek looks like I fell asleep with my head on the waffle iron.)
Have a wonderful weekend, everyone!
Hugs from Phoenix,
Myra
