… and what do you get? Another year older and covered in sweat.
Spiders: why did it have to be spiders? Last week I turned 56. No, please hold your applause. Coincidentally, I also helped my daughter move into a guest house, which had stood vacant for a year. When the former occupant moved out, the spiders and rats moved in.
I was on my hands and knees vacuuming spiders and rat droppings under the furnace, under the sinks, and under duress. Science lesson: birthdays are directly related to the pull of gravity. Kneeling, squatting, and sitting down are a snap. Standing requires an act of Congress and a rosary. Since Congress can normally only agree on naming November “National Turnip Greens Month,” you are likely to become well acquainted with every dust bunny on the floor.
When I finally managed to return to a vertical position, the same gravity caused fluids from my arthritic knees to migrate South. Leaking fluids from various body parts is also directly related to aging, but that’s a subject for another science lesson.
The upshot is that cleaning and many trips up and down the stairs of my daughter’s previous residence resulted in my feet swelling enough to necessitate the purchase of clown shoes. (Clowns: why did it have to be clowns?)
Years ago, we spent three years in Spain. While my friends were collecting Lladros (ceramic figurines for which you must sell two kidneys and your first-born child in the States) we collected slabs of marble. My daughter decided that she wanted the marble for her new home. This is where the title of this blog comes into play.
Where I once had the muscle tone of a gymnast, I am now able to successfully lift a box of toothpicks (as long as they don’t have the cellophane fluffy stuff on the end). I could always get a career making balloon animals. They’re much lighter than marble, and I already have the shoes.
Of course, the reason for the house standing empty all that long while was that it was once the home of Crazy Old Broomhilda, who went on a shooting rampage at a tupperware party she was hosting, mowing down seventeen people before getting gunned down in a fight with seventy U.S. Marshals, and now her ghost still haunts the attic room upstairs….
Tupperware parties should be banned. Someone’s always burping the square rounds, or arguing over the last set of custard cups.
Well my sister always says I should start saying the rosary and well maybe this is a sign. I’ll include you in my prayers.
Your prayers are welcome. Thankfully, God is very forgiving if I don’t kneel for prayers.
I can sure relate with those over 50 bodily woes. For me waaaaay over 50. Can’t relate to those spiders, though. You are my friend, and I swear I would do most anything for you. As long as spiders have nothing to do with anything involved in said assistance. You’re on your own sister. But I love ya!
And can I borrow those clown shoes sometimes? The color would soooo compliment my blue flowery mu’u mu’u. The one I bought back in the 1990’s and still wear on occasion….for that tropical “get away from it all” feeling.
Clown shoes and a muu muu? You’re a trendsetter, my dear. I’d give a lot to get a peak at your closet.
What can I say? If ya got it, ya flaunt it.
I’ve seen stories on the news of houses unoccupied for a time that become infested with brown recluse spiders….
Damn! I should probably have that rash looked at.