I woke to the sound of the telephone this morning, at 09:30 or thereabouts. Graham was wondering where I’d got to, if I was alright, all those sort of things. He was greatly amused at my confused state, told me to get up and have a coffee or two, and get my act together. We’ll talk again at lunch time.
I do sometimes find it quite difficult to gather my wits together on waking. And I do seem to be sleeping longer and longer day by day. Joking, I say there’s a little demon hiding inside me counselling sleep as a way of getting comfortably through the remainder of my home alone time.
Can’t say it’s all that bad an idea.
But, the sun has come back, the door and windows are wide open, and there’s a soft, end of summer feeling about the air that passes through the house. After a few experimental chirps, more like squeaks than chirps really, the birds are singing again.
When I was a kid my mother would wash all the floors and prop the front and back doors open with flat irons to let the house air through. She called it ‘a good blow through’. The smell of lavender floor wash on shiny linoleum is still alive in my memories, though it’s a long time since I experienced it in real life.
I persevered with my house cleaning yesterday but did not finish it. There are so many reasons each day to sit down and gaze contentedly out of the window, not truly registering very much. It doesn’t really matter and I’ll have another go at the task today. Just so long as it’s finished before it needs starting over again.
I could do with a bucket of that lavender floor wash for the kitchen today but I can’t for the life of me remember the recipe, if I ever knew it. I know it had washing soda in it, and a few drops of lavender oil, and a sliver cut from the big hard bar of Sunlight soap but memory fails me beyond that point. I suspect it may have had a drop of vinegar in it, too, though I can’t remember anything vinegary about the aroma that filled the house. I’d remember that, I’m sure I would, because I’ve always disliked the smell of vinegar on anything but chips. And cabbage.
Hey ho. I’ll make do with Flash. A good old standby is Flash, even if it has been new-and-improved out of all recognition. It’s a shame that they seem to prefer lemon oil to lavender.
So, there we go. Another day, another head of cabbage.
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from the open door
sun and white clouds
the scent of summer
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