Wednesday, December 20, 2000

 

10:08 a.m. See-saw days. And then we come to today: Is it the shortest, or is tomorrow? It was very short, of course, but as usual in these matters, I'm getting used to it. But tomorrow -- do we official start adding the one extra minute of sunlight?

I'm going to try to get to the beach at sunset to see if I can discern the trend. For now, I'm thrilled and proud of all of us for getting this far. Yes, the darkness was closing in, yes it was, but we ... napped and ate sweets and bundled up under blankees and ate more sweets and we have soldiered through!

Tomorrow is a longer day. And the next one is longer still, and the next ... and soon it will be summer again.

Today a house appraiser came through to measure and calculate and divine whether or not we qualify for a remortgage. Interest rates have gone down and I humbly believe that the value of our house has gone up since we've moved in and I took the scrub brush to the place. Also, housing values in all of Venice have improved, thanks to the dot.com boomlet.

However, we didn't have much advance warning. I knew when I got up this morning that I'd only have about an hour to get the place looking somewhat put together and yes, there was a pile of laundry. Isn't there always?

When I opened my eyes and looked at the clock and realized what time it was, I did a cool thing: I stripped the bed and tumbled out of it all in one smooth, fluid motion. I folded towels and: brushed my teeth, made the bed, stashed socks, showered, and wiped down surfaces all before coffee.

And I think it went pretty well, depending and considering. We have paperwork to prove that this house is, indeed, a landmark of sorts. It's in the books. I had the books out and opened to the relevant pages, you'd better believe it.

And there was even a sort of Christmas miracle! Igor finally heard my daily cries of anguish about the berry situation, which I keep forgetting to mention here. In short, there's a tree out back that drops red berries. They're bing-cherry-sized berries, actually. Igor walks through them on his way to and fro. They stick to the bottom of his sneakers, loafers, slippers, and Docksiders.

They stain the white carpet up and down the stairs to his office. Ditto the kitchen floor. I wipe the floor when I see them, but the carpet? It's just beyond my current capabilities, crushed as I am with computer burdens. But this morning, early, he got out said scrub brush and filled a bucket with Lysol, yes he did and he got down on his hands and knees (I'm assuming) and he scrubbed each and every white-carpeted step.

When I got out of the shower and threw some clothes on and started down the stairs for the coffee, my bare feet fell on pleasantly scented, slightly moist rug swirls, all clean and pretty. True, true, true.

So, that's it for a short, but very good, day.