Friday, November 4, 2011

Dearest love, hello, I am so pooped here, I am figuratively putting my feet up and asking you to fish around in the ice chest to pour me a drink. I feel as though I'm in a beach shack thoroughly prepped and laundered within an inch of its life for the week-long renters arriving tomorrow. Except no, more nicely than that, it's our own beach shack, suddenly - what with everything washed, or swiped, or painted, or dusted - the place is way brighter, and certainly less dusty. Though some blue linen drapes washed on hot do seem paler - no matter. I could never be obsessed with cleaning on a regular basis, but this "spring" cleaning has been gratifying, the push. The house seems almost normal, at least to me, who long ago stopped actually seeing the two enormous stacked cartons - containing bathtubs - in the dining room, right next to the Steinway. But there are flowers in vases in most of the rooms, orange tiger lilies in an earthenware jug on the fireplace hearth; a dozen pale peach roses on the dresser in the bedroom. Or at least - that's where they'll go. Because at the moment the vintage mirrored dresser is piled high with decorative bed pillows whose covers I spent much of my morning ironing & reassembling, along with pressing the bedspread (a charming vintage print that I'd cobbled together from $1 per pound remnants at that wonderful high-end shop - it looks like a million bucks, in that discreet, faded, old money kind of way of course), and all the upstairs rest.

And so, darling, all that labor took the place of a walk & and a workout - surely I burnt calories. (I certainly did the summer long ago that I was a chambermaid in Ogunquit, Maine.)  I was on the move and on the stretch and up & down stepladders wiping slatted blinds & then - in a stolen moment in which I had an incredible fifteen minutes with you that after the necessary starting up the works in fairly short order - I have gotten really good at this - got straight to the point, magically, splendidly, transmutedly, in the bedchamber, me lying back spent & exhausted - not to mention you. You, spent & exhausted, I let be, tucked covers around you, gave you a kiss, and left the shades-drawn room. Because I felt energized. And so... no, nothing romantic or poetic then ensued. Instead, in the nude - because it was very mild, and sunny, and the place is feeling like a spanking-clean beach shack, especially up in the aerie with its cheery striped rag rugs - I got on my hands & knees and like the most cheerful Cinderella ever, did something I have not done in (as Poe might put it) many a year -- that is, give the baseboards, all around the room, a good scrub.

Do you see why I tend not to ever attend my alumnae reunions?

Also, that little "writing group" that my friendly woman acquaintance and I are trying to get off the ground. I did - technically - write something about that play she & I saw together last Sunday. But I've felt hesitant, or reticent, about sharing it with her - that is, really, about telling her about my blog. I don't really expect others to "get it" - it's a little out there, I see that for myself, although --- well, I'm certainly not about to start explaining or justifying here, but perhaps you see my light dilemma.

Right now Prince's Purple Rain is going through my mind, the wordless parts, when he's sort of howling/screeching the anthem wordless notes.

I'd factcheck that, except that I lost the downloaded song this morning, when - such is the frenzy of housecleaning - I blew a breaker upstairs by having on, all at once, a space heater (radiator style) on which we dry wet towels; an iron; and the vacuum cleaner.

I blew the same breaker yet again about an hour ago, while I was ironing drapes from the downstairs bath...

It goes to show how lightly I housekeep most of the time - it's not my usual to blow breakers as a result!

Must remember tomorrow morning not to multitask... not to iron pillowcases while blowdrying hair while Penelope heats herself by electric radiator while in my bedroom batteries recharge....

It's the blowdrier that will trip the breaker.

Love you, darling, hope you're having a wonderful evening. Many, many kisses. Will post tomorrow - from Brooklyn.


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