Yes, yes, it would be easier if we kept at it, we know all that.  But by the end of the weekend, we had wrenched backs, painful blisters on our hands and bruises on our knees.

Are you feeling sorry for us yet?  We didn’t even start the outdoor work that we realize we have to do - putting the garden to bed, cleaning out gutters, fixing the flashing on the chimney, covering the windows with shrink wrap, (ulp) raking leaves, and rolling up hoses and putting the lawn mower away. 

Then, to make the weekend complete, Chris dumped garbage into one of our new, fancy blue pay as you throw bags, and it ripped down the side, spilling everything onto the hitherto and recently cleaned kitchen floor. 

He looked so pathetic, standing there with the empty carcass of the blue bag in his hand and the gooey carcass of last night’s chicken dinner on the floor, that I started to laugh.  I mean I honestly could not help it, even when I realized I’d be cleaning the floor again.

“Is THIS,” he roared, “what we PAY $2 per BAG FOR?” (He can get quite forceful when he wants to, which isn’t very often.)

But to answer his question, no, it isn’t.   I am not entirely sure why Bath cheaps out on the bags.  If I knew they were made of biodegradable plastic made from potato starch, or some such thing, I would be four-square behind them, even if it meant the occasional chicken mess on the floor.  But I don’t believe that to be the case.  No, they’re just cheap plastic bags. 

Since we are forced to use them, it would be nice if they gave chicken carcasses a bit of thought, wouldn’t it?  So I am wondering now how other folks...especially those that have made the transition already to senior citizen-hood, manage to keep their bags from splitting and their houses in such immaculate shape?  I have been to the homes of senior citizens, and they are always far, far tidier than mine.

What is the magic?

Please don’t tell me the magic is getting rid of animals and kids and hiring a housekeeper more than once a month, because if that is it, I will cry.  Seeing as none of the above is likely to happen in my lifetime.  Our son and heir is coming home for the holidays, and shortly after that, we plan to start the foster care-adoption process.  And none of the pets are looking for their own apartments yet, either, I can tell you that.  Some of them are better at keeping their rooms clean than others.

Somehow, we managed to get through the downstairs, which did, to our credit, involve moving some furniture from one room to another to make room in the livingroom for Paco, who was getting annoyed at being left in the library, and I did clean my office, which came as a pleasant shock to Chris. 

When we bought this house, it seemed charmingly small.  Realtor-speak for small is “cozy”, we learned.  And cozy was what we wanted.  But now that it is just the two of us, the thing seems to have expanded in size.  We have far more rooms than we currently need, and, it turns out, more furniture than the house can hold, yet nowhere to sit and balance a tray of chicken dinner on a cold autumn’s night.

We also managed to get rid of the great white hope, selling it to one of Chris’ co-workers for a cozy sum.  She is hoping her brother will use it instead of her car.  I didn’t want to be the one to tell her that wasn’t very likely.  But she knew all of its charming defects when she bought the car, so my conscience is clear.  As is the street in front of Turning Tide Cottage.

Now we are trying to plan ... as much as it is ever possible ... for Thanksgiving.  We never really know until The Day how many people, kids and dogs are likely to turn up, so no engraved place cards at Turning Tide Cottage, I fear.  But we did organize a menu and generally figured out when I would have time to make pies and cakes and cranberry sauce.
So now we just need a working list of guests, and we’re good to go.  And maybe next year some kind person will invite us to Aruba for Thanksgiving.  (Hint, hint).