|Sammy is not amused. This is his "Why is that hairy-bear-thing on our bed?" look.|
I have no idea what it's like in Frog Pond Holler today, because I'm not dressed and haven't even stuck my head out the door.
It's vacation people. Mahala style.
Since Friday, I helped The Amazon gather supplies for canning Kudzu jelly, which didn't set up, making it the most expensive six jars of non jelly ever created, cleaned out the rat infested kitchen drawers that we've kept closed for over a year because I'd have a fit of anxiety every time I thought about cleaning them out and hauled four bags of spray paint cans, bug spray and other caustic substances from under the kitchen sink.
We've been keeping all our silverware and cooking utensils in glasses on the counter since we had the rodent invasion a while back. Sunday, I had to tackle rat turds big enough to have come out of Yoda, don rubber gloves, scrub everything with bleach then spray the drawers with Lysol, letting them air dry, suffered one hamster pox outbreak (who is allergic to rodents? Seriously, is there no end to my super freakiness?) and had to stop in the middle of everything to go shower. Then yesterday, under the sink, I used Ma's gripper grabby things to reach back in there. I kept expecting to find a snake curled up in the mess. I did find a partially decomposed rat in a state of eternal peace in a box with some canning jars.
There was a second hamster pox outbreak. I had to hit the Benadryl that time.
Once the under sink area was clean, I ran Ma's old, gargantuan dish drainer through the dishwasher then stashed it under the cabinet, replacing it with a tiny sink drainer. Now? ZOMG the counter space! I'm enjoying going in the kitchen and gazing upon the counters, reveling in their empty shininess.
The kitchen table is another story and today's project.
The Amazon is off on Friday and I've decided we'll go to the Farmer's Market in Big City. It's on a 36 acre site with gobs of vendors with food, crafts etc. I've never been, but I've always wanted to go. I know, it sounds like a boring thing to do, but some of my fondest memories were of the farmer's market back home. The Virginia Beach Farmer's Market had live bluegrass on Friday nights. My best friend Mary Lamm and I used to get all dolled up and go troll for manfolk when we were around 16 or 17. That was before we really embraced the joys of liquid refreshment of the alcoholic variety or the relaxing properties of a particular organic, home rolled cigarette.
Hanging at the Farmer's Market, unsupervised, was all the excitement I could handle.
So we're gonna go see what's there and maybe swing by the big flea market up the road. And yes, I do realize how horribly redneck that sounds. I fear I am assimilating in to the local population. I never thought a farmer's market would ever be my idea of an exciting vacation day trip.
I will need an urban intervention soon. The aroma of warm asphalt after the rain, the sound of traffic whizzing by my window and, if there's a God, a 7-11 Slurpee.
Now? There's a mound of assorted power tools, a homeless toaster oven and a pile of outdated coupons calling my name.
Ya'll have a good one.