It Must Be Getting Close to Summer when . . .

I am sitting in my fave chair. My adult son just told me over the phone how to unfreeze my laptop (turn it off and then back on).  I can hear the squeak, squeak, squeak of the swings in the park next to me. The windows are open just enough to let in fresh air and a little bit of pollen.

My Facebook-friend couple is in the Netherlands. I viewed the photo of the sheep they saw today. I saw the combine they videotaped and the pretty girl on the shaggy pony. I feel as though I went there today, too.

Instead I visited my sis, walked the dogs, and unpacked all my dishes that have been put away for three months. That’s right, folks. My new kitchen is done at last.  My china hutch got moved to another room, so unloading it and loading it back up was a huge endeavor. I have bubble wrap, paper lunch bags, and newspaper everywhere.  Then there’s the dust, three months’ worth of sawing, drilling, building, and installing. Dust, dust, dust.  I have about half of it cleaned up.

My cleaning (and all around Girl Friday) gal comes tomorrow, which is a Tuesday. It’s okay. I will take her any day that I can. I’ve paid off my contractor for now until the final skinny cabinet comes that will just squeeze between the hood range and the second window. We really didn’t know if we could get it in there before the wall came down and we could see it and believe it.

The sun is coming through the kitchen window over the sink and all the way to my chair in the living room. The old dining room wall used to prevent that from happening, but now the new open floor plan of this part of the house is creating some issues, such as western sun in my eyes at 6:55 p.m. That will change in the next few days. I think I will skip the blinds and just deal with it by waiting it out.

I danced on cement yesterday, so that’s another sure sign that summer and all of its wine and music festivals are looming ahead. The Clayton festival yesterday was fun, with an awesome band called PhD and all the regulars there to hear it. No wine was consumed by me (it’s a little harder to get out on the dance floor of asphalt as a teetotaler), but I did have a killer cold diet 7-Up on the way out and part of an equally killer pesto pizza at Skipolini’s after my two hours of aerobics in full sunshine.

My yard is in Super Bloom mode, and my nose is behaving somewhat well with its daily dose of Zyrtec or Claritin, depending on which car I am driving. I am currently in shorts, and I did get twenty minutes of Vitamin D time on the backyard chaise lounge before I visited Sis and after I sold a woman and her third grade son a pioneer outfit complete with a Tom Sawyer straw hat.

“Who is Tom Sawyer?” the boy asked, but I was too busy trying to get Paypal Here to work on my new phone to answer him.

Funny, I just realized his mom never told him. Maybe she didn’t know, either. After all, she is probably all of forty years old. Don’t they teach that book anymore? Has she heard of Mark Twain?  My best memory of it is how Tom Sawyer tricked his friends into white washing the fence so that he wouldn’t have to do it.

My lab-pit-border collie dog is snoring in the other chair. She must know summer is coming and that she’d better practice relaxing.

My contractor wanted to wait until it got warmer to do my kitchen. I insisted that he do it in the winter, even though he was ripping out the kitchen ceiling to raise it up. Yes, it got cold in here, but I didn’t want to be stuck having to supervise the dogs or deliveries or anyone during the best season of the year, the season of free live music everywhere you turn, every night of the week, except Mondays.  I didn’t want to miss a thing because of a remodel.

I have a designated picnic supply drawer, filled with paper plates, plastic cups, napkins, etc. I am getting ready for life outdoors. I’ve got my earplugs in my purse, my lawn chair on the porch, and my little red wagon in the car (it helps at the post office too when mailing a huge school order).

The squeaking has stopped. Somebody had to go home for dinner.  I need to find the WD-40 and send my Girl Friday to the park with a ladder.  Or maybe not. The squeak, squeak, squeak of summer is a pretty wonderful thing to float into my house on an end-of-April breeze.

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