For something entirely different, I am sitting here in a silent house. Ari is at robot camp and Christer is at work. Maggie is on my lap. The street is - finally - blanketed in snow. We had to move my computer onto the dining room table because stuff in toilet stacks was raining down. We are not going to discuss how that went. My contractor, seeing my horrified face, assured me that what I was seeing was mostly rust and soap and stuff. Stuff. The toilet stack hasn't been in use for 40 years, but I knew what I was really seeing.
I thought I wouldn't be able to work in the dining room. I've always worked in my little tucked away alcove in the kitchen, and as we all know, writing requires magic. And superstition. And all manner of OCD things. Instead, I am liking it. And so is Maggie. We can look out the window, though we've agreed the keyboard is a little awkward. I tried to put in on my lap, but Maggie said 'I'm sorry, but that is where I sit." So that was that.
I have that lovely Panamera Turbo S back in the driveway. I woke up to see it covered in snow, and Christopher had left for work. My garage is stacked to the top with crap, and I didn't know if I could find another snowbrush. Oh, that Porsche? It's parked behind a dumpster. It's really classing up the joint.
I texted Rick Bye, the Porsche fleet guy. I said 'is there a snowbrush in the car?'. He texted back, 'it hasn't snowed. How should I know?' Then he called me a name. I texted back and called him the same name, but twice. He texted back and said 'if you want, drive out here and I'll give you a snowbrush'. Then he called me a name. I texted back and said 'I'm fine, I found one in the garage.' So he texted me and said 'you need me to show you how to work it?' I texted back 'you actually believe I'm a real blonde?' I'll tell you what he says when he gets it. But I'm going to call him some more names. Edit: Mr. Bye answered my text. He said 'no, an 'automotive journalist''. In quotes like that. I think he's taking the mickey out of me for being both blonde, and a journo. I'm thinking up some new names.
In spite of the shambles that my home is in, with everything piled on everything else and all of it covered with a thickening layer of dust, I'm remembering how nice it is to hear nothing. I'm doing laundry, but that's about it. There are so many things to clean I don't know where to start. Steve, my construction dude, was pulling things out of a high cabinet they had to take down. As he handed down bottle after bottle, tin after tin, I carefully put items I hadn't seen in years into a box. "Wow. This is all cleaning stuff," he noted. "Vintage," he added. I smacked him.
I really shouldn't be just sitting here loving the silence. But I'm worried if I go to do errands and shopping, some knob will hit $180K worth of car in the No Frills parking lot. And to tell you the truth, that is one text I do not want to send Mr. Bye.