We only have two window air conditioning units in our house and one functioning ceiling fan. There are two floor fans and two desk fans on the first floor, and four floor fans (one for each bedroom and the bathroom) on the second floor.
Our house is old and the insulation isn’t wonderful. The windows are old and don’t all function as well as they should. We live on a main road and if we open the front door for ventilation we also get the noise from the truck route that goes through town.
We roast in the muggy heat of summer.
Central air is not in our vocabulary.
I hate the heat but there’s no way to escape it. No time for the public pool, no space for a private one in our little postage-stamp yard. No money for more window units or ceiling fans at the moment.
I have several big projects to tackle if I want my home to be less stressful to me.
Cleaning out my garage.
Removing some carpeting from the house.
Things that there’s a very good chance I’ll do wrong.
But I don’t know if I don’t try.
And that’s the risk.
The garage in particular I am hopeful for. I spent last Sunday helping to clean someone else’s house. Throwing things away that were no longer useful or useable. Sweeping cobwebs from walls and ceilings. Ordering the things that would stay. Creating imperfect, better than before spaces that someone could come into and make something of.
If I just pretend the garage belongs to someone else, I stand a chance. I will go through what’s there with my husband to determine what things he would clearly like to remain, and then Sunday I will start.
Reassemble the bicycles. Arrange the tools. Sweep the grass clippings. Throw out the molding books. I have a tarp for what I will keep, and hope to find that the spigot works so I have a source of outside water.
Also, a taste. I don’t have a sweet tooth exclusively. Some folks are salt people, some are sweet people, but I ride both depending on what’s going on in my life. Some days I really don’t want sweet anything, and some days you can bring it on for hours and it never gets old.
I can’t find them. I’m not that person. I’ve met those people, but I’m not them.
Pennies, heads or tails
I don’t believe it’s bad luck to pick up a penny that’s landed face down (tails) – it’s money. I don’t care how it’s landed. A coworker used to say, “It all adds up.” And it does.
Incredibly lucky if you’re loved by one. Perhaps less so if you have the misfortune to be on their bad side. My black cat, Shadow (almost Midnight, occasionally President Shadow, inspiration for Inky), is adorable and fluffy and sweet and I really can’t imagine that it could ever be bad luck to have him in my life. He is the only one I’ve had to take to the vet since getting fixed, though. Hmm…
They’re bad luck if you get glass in your foot, so please avoid them.
Ladders, walking under
That’s just a bad idea. It’s bad luck because something is likely to fall on your head, or you’re going to nudge the ladder out of its precarious balance, and someone is going to fall on your head. Don’t do it unless you’ve really got no other safe choice.
I hate bugs, so I’m not tossing salt over my shoulder if I spill it in the kitchen on the off chance that it attracts undesirables. Nope. Not gonna do it.
Never did anything to hurt me, so I’m fine with it, too. Friday the 13th is a lovely day and is occasionally a family member’s birthday. Can’t go wrong there. I didn’t always feel that way, though. I have been superstitious about the number in the past.
I never particularly had any kind of affection for the number 7 as a lucky number, although my grandmother did. My lucky number is 42-7, sometimes written as 427, for no particular reason.
Well, if you do believe horseshoes are lucky, make sure you hang them right side up above your doorway so the luck doesn’t spill out. (That’s in a “U” shape, not a “n” shape.)
Not very lucky for the rabbit, is it? I used to think they were lucky, except when I realized they were actually rabbit feet, I got a bit grossed out. The Monkey’s Paw may have had something to do with that.
February’s prompt is pink. This is kind of super appropriate for me because pink is my color. I’ve said for several years that the moment I don’t have to worry about getting fired for pink hair, the hair is going 100% bright pink. Not a shy pink, either. No pastels for me.
I am one of those women (and I was one of those girls) that loves everything pink. Pink clothes, although I stick to pink tops these days, pink notebooks, pink paper, pink pens, pink backpacks, pink dresses. I don’t particularly think it was because I was “supposed” to like that color just because I was a girl – my mom’s favorite color is blue, and while that always baffled me (blue is nice and all, but it’s not pink, man!), fine. Everyone has different tastes.
Please forgive the state of my carpet.
Those are my essential pink items. The phone case, watchband, pen case, and traveler’s journal go with me everywhere daily. The laptop sleeve/case is used any time the computer leaves the house, and the water bottle I’m trying to develop a daily relationship with.
And it probably should be mentioned that the pink pen case carries one pink glitter pen and one pink ultra-fine pen. No, those are not my only pink ink pens.
Of course. While the front of my glasses are a darker purple in an attempt to not be too flashy, the inside and the arms are a lovely, bright color that you can almost see in this photo. I wasn’t sure about these because the arms are also very thin, but I love them now.
In these two boxes I keep a ream of lovely pink writing paper, and letter-writing supplies.
This is not the full extent of the pink in my home. Notebooks, a giant soft die, a 6″ binder with a double-spaced, fixed font manuscript inside, a blanket, pens (pink barrel and pink ink), and a caticorn’s horn are just a few of the pink things I can see at this moment.
Oh, and the toes of my socks.
I think what I’ll try to do for the rest of the month is find as many pink things in my life as I can, and I’ll report back with photos. My purse might be pink, but it’s also kind of red. There’s my coat which could charitably be called cranberry, but that’s not quite pink. But photos. I’ll grab them and post them, and create a lovely pink gallery because pink is the color. At least, pink is my color. I get it if you don’t love it as much as I do. It’s not for everyone.