Another Saturday, spent goofing off

It's Saturday afternoon, an absolutely gorgeous day, and yet, it's happened again: I got absolutely nothing of consequence done around the house.

It never seems to fail. I get to the end of the week and part-way through Friday, I make note of all the cleaning I want to get done around the house over the weekend. This usually starts on Friday, since that's when I try to clean the bathroom, change sheets, do a ton of laundry, and by the time I get that much done, it's like Okay, I might as well get a start on cleaning.

Realistically, there are two problems with this whole cleaning-the-house-on-Friday-and-Saturday train of thought: my organizational skills, and getting overwhelmed.

First off, I'm not exactly organized. Disorganized would be a more appropriate assessment of my skills. Granted, I'm nowhere near being in the running to end up on A&E's Hoarders, and I'm more organized than I used to be. Most of the dining room table top can be seen and used (it's brown; just push those two or three books over there), no one is going to trip over stuff on the way from the front door through the house (don't look over into that corner, though), and the kitchen floor and counters are scrubbed on a semi-regular basis. But let's just say that I'm as organized as I am graceful.

Quick anecdote: When Paul was alive - a man who'd been a Marine, and was organized enough to prove it - we were the perfect Odd Couple: We may not have been as far apart as Felix and Oscar, but those who saw us in action, especially at home, were sometimes willing to point out that if ever someone did a remake of Neil Simon's comedy with a male and female couple, we might have a shot. I'd come home, place something on the table.

"Is that where that goes?" Paul would ask.

"No," I'd answer. "I'll put it away later." Then I'd get ready to fix both of us some ice tea.

"How about putting it away now," he'd insist. At this point, I'd sigh, roll my eyes ("Oh, can it!" he'd tell me) and head back to the dining room table to put whatever away. We were definitely yin and yang.

Then there's the whole getting overwhelmed aspect of this plan. The house needs to be tidied. So, I'm make a list, which invariably will read, "1. Clean Table. 2. Living/dining room. 3. kitchen..." and so on throughout the house. Nothing specific, such as thinking, "This weekend, I'll tackle the living room, next weekend, the kitchen..." and then breaking it down to manageable tasks: Vacuum. Dust. Organize bookshelves. Nope, gonna clean that sucker stem-to-stern,-top-to-bottom...

By now, it's time to fix another cup of coffee and read the paper while getting myself psyched up. After all, I'll have to put the paper in the recycling bin while cleaning...And the next thing I know, it's Saturday afternoon.

I do have a perfectly good reason for not getting everything done today. M. and J. both decided to get either a touch of the flu or a very bad cold. J. got it first, and for a day or two, sounded like he was going to hock up a lung. Then M. got it. I should be thankful that they didn't sound like Harvey Fierstein this time. Last year, they both ended up with whatever they're getting over, but with a touch of laryngitis that caused them both to sound like the actor/playwright. Especially M. One evening, I came down the hall to start dinner, and could have sworn they were listening to Mrs. Doubtfire: he kept repeating one of Fierstein's lines when he's talking on the phone with his mother ("B*!%h. Not you, Ma, the dog.") and sounding exactly like him. It was funny the first couple of times. Let's just say that I was glad when his voice went back to normal.

But this time, they managed to spread the joy and germs to me. While they'd been walking around feeling pretty stinky and thinking (at least the first day) that the ER might not be bad, then starting to recover, I spiked a fever and got hit harder. Yes, I know, I'm years and years older than they are, and the older we get, the harder it hits us, the longer it takes, et cetera. But considering that I was taking antibiotics for a bacterial ear infection while fighting off this nasty virus (which, of course, as a virus sits there and laughs long and loud at antibiotics) left me feeling like doo-doo. I spent two days napping more than not before pulling a Lazarus and starting to walk around and doing things - like washing the dishes.

Today, my daughter M.H. stopped by, dropped off a couple of things, then headed home to get ready for work. I put the stuff away, ate the second container of soup she'd dropped off a couple of days ago, looked through an Avon book that my rep had dropped off (if anyone in mid-county needs Avon, let me know; I'll pass your number along to her), and basically vegged out.

Now, as I wait for M. to get home from work with a bottle of ginger ale that he's picked up, I can look around at the house and know a few things: There's always next weekend. I needed the recovery day. I managed to update my blog. And much as I love a certain actor/playwright, I don't sound like Harvey Fierstein; his voice sounds much better on him than it would on a middle-aged woman.

Reading

I love to read. Always have. I blame my parents, in a good way. Between bedtime stories, watching both Mom and Dad reading a wide variety of books in their spare time, and receiving books for birthdays, Christmases, and just because, I learned that books were to be explored and enjoyed. A person can learn a lot from books.

It was on one website that I frequent that I learned about another cool site called Goodreads . Maybe you've heard of it. Or not. But on Goodreads, a reader can keep track of books she or he has read, is currently reading, wants to read (oops, must add the Narnia series!), learn about what others are reading, what others feel are must reads and what can be passed on. One can connect with friends on the site and get emails when books (and comments on these books) are added to friends' lists.

At the moment, I'm reading several books, a habit I got into as a kid during summer vacation. Getting home after the last day of school, I'd grab a stack of five books, read the first chapter of the first book, stick in on the bottom of the stack, read the next book's first chapter, then the next book...You get the idea. When I'd finish one book, it would go back on the bookshelf, another stuck into its place, and the reading would go on. By mid-summer, I might be on chapter one in one book, chapter ten in another, five in the third...Drove my mother crazy.

"How do you keep all the stories separate?" she'd ask. Just do, I'd tell her. She'd wander off, sighing, happy, I'm sure, that at least I was reading.

"I wouldn't worry about it," my grandmother told her when she relayed it during one of Grandma's visits. "I used to that all the time." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "I still do." If it was good enough for Grandma...

Two of the books I'm currently working on are Seasons of Real Florida, by Jeff Klinkenberg, and Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake, by Anna Quindlen. Both are interesting reads, similar in some ways, way different in others

Klinkenberg's Seasons..., as with his other books, is a collection of his columns first published in the Tampa Bay Times (formerly the St. Petersburg Times). He introduces the reader to all sorts of interesting characters and Florida locales. His writing makes the reader think that Klink has the perfect job: wander the state, meet cool people, see cool places, and then write about them. Jeff, if you ever decide to retire, please put in a good word for me at the Times!

Quindlen's Lots of Candles... is also a collection of short essays. (She wrote for the New York Times for several years; several of her non-fiction books are collections of some of these essays.) Her essays tend toward her observations on life.

In one of the essays in Lots of Candles..., she mentions being a control freak, to the point of having a local anesthetic when having a hysterectomy. The surgeon, knowing a control freak when she saw one, told Quindlen that she would not be allowed to talk while the surgery was going on. I really had to laugh while reading Quinlen's description of being a control freak, as I've been there. I, too, tend to be a bit of a control freak, as well as a bit of a slob.

An aside: When Paul was alive, he played Felix Unger to my Oscar Madison; we used to joke that if anyone ever did a remake of The Odd Couple using a married couple, we'd be perfect. While I'm not enough of a slob to be on an episode of Hoarders, it's only because I am a control freak. And maybe the two apparent opposites feed into each other: I can never keep my home as neat as my mom used to, or as neat as I'd love to, so why bother? But then the control-freak-ness kicks in and...

There have been times when I've been in my friend Kevin's cab and told him that I wanted to go somewhere, then proceeded to tell him exactly how to get there. Kev will usually give me a look and ask who I think is doing the driving. If I mention wanting to be in control, he'll tell me that I'm simply neurotic. Nothing like having someone know you too well...

Kevin reads a lot, too; over the years, I've noticed numerous books in his cab. (Cab driving does give one down time between calls.) He's recommended several books, and I've told him about several, even handing him a copy of Elie Wiesel's Night, a book he devoured in a day or two before passing it on. (It was an extra copy and I'd told him to pass it along.)

Paul was a reader, too, liking a variety of books from Tom Clancy and mysteries to short stories. But there were several times when I'd buy a book for myself, put it on the table, then not be able to find it later. "Oh, I started reading it," Paul would say. "You really need to read this: it's great!"

We'd discuss books, what we were reading, what stood out in the book, what inspired us for a variety of reasons...

It's a rainy Saturday, the last weekend in the out-going year. I intend to do some house-cleaning (it's that control-freak thing), but I also intend to get royally lost in a couple of books. Will I read about more quirky Floridians? More Quindlen musings? AWOL on the Appalachian Trail on my Kindle? Who knows...maybe all three. It'll drive Mom nuts, but at least she'll take comfort knowing I'm reading!