It’s that lovely time of year when the axial tilt pushes sunrise later and later. There’s a line of rosy cloud in the east, and the cedars are black shadows against strengthening light. The coffee is hot and tastes marvelous, and though I’ve never been a morning person I’ve never minded the dawn.
I just usually like to be heading to bed as it rises. Shift-change, you could call it.
I ran a pressure washer for the first time yesterday, cleaning off the deck. It was incredibly satisfying to see the grunge and bits of moss lift away. Today I’ll slop some sealant on the whole thing, possibly with the help of a child or two, and then I can wait for the rains with something approaching sanguinity. It will be satisfying to see the first downpour of the season bead up on freshly sealed decking, and that will extend its life a little longer. Or at least, so I hope–replacing that sort of thing is a bitch, and we just did the roof.
One can be fully aware of being lucky to have a house, and also mildly frustrated with the constant rounds of maintenance. Circle of life, and all that.
In between, there’s a conversation that needs to happen in Hell’s Acre. Gemma needs to figure out what to do with her almost-father and wounded “uncle”; the former will not make it easy and the latter is having a full-blown religious crisis, so that’ll be fun. Fortunately, I think Avery’s going to start taking what he considers his responsibilities seriously indeed. If I can get that and the deck sorted, I’ll consider today a win.
Might even record another narration for the saucy channel. I can’t believe I’m doing this with my life, but it pleases me so I’m going to continue. I think I’ll finish the “stories” in The Pearl first, then do a few episodes where I narrate the poetry–some of which is actually quite hilarious, if one likes dick jokes. I mean, I’m neutral on dick limericks myself, despite my love for Galadriel (who learned the art of old from Varda) but I admire the sheer amount of “commit to the bit”. It’s surprisingly fun to keep a straight face while reading antique erotica.
Tomorrow it’s back to the regular schedule, especially a morning run. Giving my body some time off shouldn’t mean I use it in other ways which make it just as sore, right? My forearms are a bit unhappy from the pressure washer’s reverb, and my neck could really use some stretching and a little rest. Maybe I should shoehorn some yoga in later.
I’d say “getting old sucks” but it’s actually kind of awesome. Even if I suspect I’ll need a handful of ibuprofen by dusk.
The birds have noticed the accelerating dawn, and there’s a Boxnoggin to walk before I can start splashing sealant everywhere. I’m down to the last few swallows of coffee and the neighbors’ sprinklers are going off. The day is officially underway.
See you around.