the other day
Finally: I've finished lopping, chopping, and stacking the (21 year-old) tree that fell when I was out of town 3 months ago. (Brush piles not shown, and muchly carted away by curbside up-pickers long ago.) If I were hardcore, I'da split the logs, I'm sure. Thanks to you, even-squirrelier-than-before, for the loan of the chainsaw & ax(e), and the instruction on how to fix the chain on the former. And thanks, less squirrely one, for the (literal) hedge trimming today.
Thanks, too, weather goddesses, not just for the much-cheaper gas bills this early winter, but for this particular sunny 40-degree day at the end of December on which to do some serious tree-bustin' yardwork. There's something about exhausting yourself working in the yard. I learned about it this year, and, with repeat association, I've finally got it in my head enough so's to be able to use the knowledge, somewhat regularly and with less resistance, to get my ass out there and doin', on days when such doin'd do me such good.
When Emil was agitated and restless the other day, I tried to suggest exhausting himself physically as a theraputic measure. He didn't go for it. I'm thinking now how funny it is that I thought of such a thing. I'd say it's not "me," but it sort of is. Some. Now. That principle of trying to save (personal) energy and not waste any effort is a principle I was raised to live by, and am still dogged by, and probably ever will be, but I no longer believe in it.
It's been a little weird having these extra days off unexpectedly. I didn't go to Canada. Just to Ikea. Which reminded me of the old days with Bill & Denise, and of the less old days with Holly, both with a flavor of the fresh and festive. My Ikea companions have had a bubbly excitement that may be my favorite contagion; that's on top of the bubbly sensations of that shopping experience itself, with all the colors and textures and funny names. This particular store has just opened this year, and it was crazy with people still in disbelief about how much junque they could take home for however many dollars.
I've also gotten some major housework done. Cleaned UNDER the rugs, as well as the rugs themselves. Gonna try to knock off some more laundry in a bit, as I'm a bit tuckered and sore to go out tonight. Tomorrow night's New Year's, anyway, and there's festivity to be engaged in then, however that turns out to go down.
The office has been declared safe again. Doggone it. But that's not 'til Tuesday. I want to get my butt in there beforehand to clear my stuff away from my exile workstation so C won't have to deal with it when she gets back.
E of MIA just asked in a comment what the (aforementioned) M. T. o. t. (m.-o.-l.) W. C. is, and now it can be told (cuz the sole member has had the formal declaration scroll pronounced from in his dining room): it's the Magnetic* Thing of the (more-or-less) Week Club. [*or Magnetics-related] Ten weeks, ten mailings, ten things to open and discover the magnetic quality of. Thing two may have arrived today, or should show up on Tuesday. Thing one was a stuffed butterfly with 6 spring legs that stretch to 6 magnetic feet in little socks. I have a dragonfly that is its cousin on my fridge now. I liked magnetics a lot when I was a kid. Still kinda do. It's a magical thing, let's admit it. Not a magic thing, purely. But magical. Or magickal. Whatever the dealie-o is with that spelling.
Year-end movie post coming soon. Watch this space.