I got a bit of a tiny shock Friday night – nothing serious, no children died. But enough to give myself permission to stay in all day Saturday bouncing back. Years ago, I saw a Bloom County strip where Binkley opined that “when life kicks you in the tush, best just to stop and soak it.”
And strangely, I did have a plan to do just that – a bubble bath sometime Saturday after my roommate, who’s got an early morning church singing gig, had turned in. And there was a time when I would have indeed just spent the whole day watching TV or reading or surfing the web, a little too cowardly or stung to do much else.
But after a couple hours, I got really bored and figured what the hell, let me tackle the disorganized mess that was my knitting corner; I corralled random skeins into more of an order, gave up on a couple projects and exiled the yarn back into storage, and dug out a couple more projects I’d put on hold. And hey, while I was at it, let me clean my room – particularly by cleaning a pile off a chair I’ve started to use as a dumping ground. Tuck a few books away that were cluttering things up.
And then I peeked into the hall closet. Unlike most New Yorkers, I’m amply blessed with closet space – two hall closets, including one walk-in closet that a friend declared was big enough for me to rent out as a third bedroom. It’s not got any windows, though, and no one in their right mind would take it for that – but it certainly could be more than the disorganized “I don’t know what else to do with it” staging area it’d become. I pulled everything out, sorted it into piles, sized up the available shelving and got critical of my hoard (some of the twenty spare shipping boxes went out the door, but I held onto the spare Swiffer mop that I didn’t even know I’d had) before neatly tucking it all back away.
I even managed to find an entire actual shelf, a slab of white particleboard just sitting there that was the right size for the short bookcase I was using as a bar cabinet. Complete with brackets. Out to the bar I went, where I weeded things out as well (if I couldn’t identify the contents of a bottle, out it went) before slotting the shelf into place, and moving a tea set onto it as well so I didn’t look completely like a MAD MEN extra.
I’d actually been wanting to give this set pride of place – a good friend’s mother passed away about a year ago, and he’s still going through her things, giving them to people he knows would value them. And thus I got a striking set of tiny black teacups and saucers; I’d splurged on a black teapot bedecked with poppies, that sort of matched. But I’d thus far only unwrapped one cup and saucer. That shelf finally spurred me to unpack the whole set, discovering my friend had also included a creamer and sugar dish, and even some loose tea in a tin painted to look like a little English pub; all of which are now neatly and proudly out on display.
And then I celebrated by making a few pots de creme, spiking them with the tiny slosh of brandy I’d found left in one bottle (so I could ditch it), and then brewing some “English pub” tea in a black cup before settling down to finally finish piecing together an afghan I’ve been working on since last May. And by the time my roommate finally turned in and I was going to take that bath….I felt too good to bother.