Cleaning House

I should probably clean house more often.

To tell the truth, I've not been as bad as previously in my life the last year. I've cleaned my toilet more than three times in the last year. I've ironed my clothes a few times. In 2009, I've washed my dishes more than once a week on average (that's the biggest accomplishment of the year so far). I've ironed a couple of times. This summer, with the extra time, I've honestly done a great job of cooking and keeping house.

Anyway, I'm moving now, of course, and so I've been packing and putting everything in order, and I've really realized that I need to keep the keeping house up.

The first thing needed to do this summer to begin moving was to finish filing papers from the last several years so that they wouldn't get lost in this move. I had several boxes that have been piled up in the extra bedroom ever since I moved to Winters. So, I spent more than a week going through them late in June.

When I finished filing them all (it took days and days), I called Mom and said, "I just got fully moved into Winters." It only took two years. That was sad.

Sadder was how much money I've found cleaning house.

I'm not kidding about this number. I have found $2,685 that I'd forgotten about.

Most of that was in a check I'd been paid several months ago and forgot to deposit. I literally found it under the cushion of one of my chairs. About $180 was in cash found here and there. I even found a mysterious envelope, in a handwriting I didn't recognize that said, "John," with $110 in it. No telling where that came from.

It's all gone again already (dental stuff), but that was nice to find. I need to clean more. You would probably be smart to visit sometime and see what's laying around the house.

We Pierce's don't always think about what we're saying.

I spent most of the last couple of weeks in Menard, and my father, as is usual, cracked me up.

One evening, we had taken an elderly woman from the church out to eat (or, really, she took us out to eat, I guess).

Anyway, the occasion for the meal was that this older woman's two cats had recently died, and Dad had made a couple of grave markers for them (two concrete tiles with the named written on them with a sharpy). The woman was so touched that she insisted on taking us out to eat.

So, after it was over, she began to thank Dad again for the grave markers. She missed those two cats, and that had meant a lot to her. And Dad was trying to be very sympathetic:

"I know that must be horrible. I can't imagine losing Abbey (Mom and Dad's beloved cat). I think losing her would be just about as bad as losing a child."

I was, of course, sitting in the back seat, and I yelled, "Thanks Dad."

It was really the next day before he realized what he'd said. He didn't mean it. If anyone's wondering where I acquired my mouth, though, there's no need to look far.