Overwhelmed

 

I grew up surrounded by books. My grandparents’ house in Oklahoma was a treasure trove and I worked my way through the shelves. My uncle had had polio as a child and so his old room was filled with them. A staunch anti-book banner, my mother had an open-read policy. I started with his Pogo collection and then by the time I was eleven or twelve I’d already read Andersonville, The Egg and I, Cheaper by the Dozen, and Gone With the Wind, to name the few that I remember.

          I slowed down a bit in high school – as you do – but then college and Grad school cranked up my reading hours, followed by a career teaching English. For years it seemed I was always working my way through something required by someone else, or something I was preparing to teach. In fact, when a past book club proposed that we read classics, I looked at the list and realized I’d read them all.

          Now going to the library is like a trip to a chocolate counter where I have unlimited pick of anything I want. I’m choosy about the quality of the writing and since I tend to immerse myself in what I read, I don’t want to read about tragedy and heartbreak. 

        I did join the book club here in my complex and I know it’s good for me since it yanks me out of my usual track, but our next one is a thriller (which I never, ever read) and the title alone gives me the jeebies.

          Then a day later an acquaintance handed me a shiny new book she thought I’d like. I’m sure she meant well, but it’s something I wouldn’t have chosen because Picoult’s characters are usually embroiled in family traumas. Maybe I’ll just skim a description on line and give the book back with a thank you next time I see her.

          And meanwhile, I’d just been to the library and come away with four books under my arm.

Trash Rebels

     Ever since we moved to the commune condo complex seven years ago, My Guy has had his own war with our past trash company. 

Update - Phew!

Not our complex, but closer to town

Getting information when there are 213,000 power outages in Sarasota County alone is difficult, but our little town in Florida appears to have dodged a cannonball.

Rising Tide

 

          We’re getting a little jumpy here in Massachusetts about our little town in Venice, FL.   

TWTWTW

 

(Remember that show -  That Was the Week That Was?)

Sorry – I’ve been lazy about posting so here’s a quick review of the week that I’ll just dump  in your lap.

Taking Umbrage - and packing it away again

 

          I sat down this afternoon all fired up to sent a huffy note to the property manager of our condo complex. I have nothing against him, and in fact am very glad he’s ours, but My Guy and I had received a letter yesterday regarding “Home Owner Plant Bed Maintenance.”

Tote that bale

 After a madcap week of eye doctor (cataracts still practically teenagers), covid shot (no reaction other than a sore arm), haircut, with a little Mahjong at the senior center thrown in, I finished up on Saturday with the fabric drive for the town library.

The drill was to hang out in front of the library and receive bags of clothing and other goods from donors who pulled up to unload. We’d then transfer the offerings into big black garbage bags since they were required by the organization we were basically selling our donations to. As I understand it, the donations would go on a scale and we’d be paid based on the weight. The organization would later sort everything according to whether it could go out on the sales floor or sent to wherever fabric is recycled.

          The return is pretty good for the library and there’s no overhead on our part since we’re all volunteers.

          I’d signed up to serve as one of the drivers, needed because while we gathered everything at the library, it had to be moved to a member’s garage until everything could be trucked to the company receiving it. And good thing I did. I’m pretty sure no one there yesterday was under 70 (including me) and added to that one person had a congenital wrist problem. Maybe next year we can round up some teenagers.

          It’s remarkable how heavy clothes can be, and when you fill a garbage bag full to
over-flowing you have a challenge. We’d stuff at least two+ kitchen bags into one black bag, tie it off, heave it into the back of a car, drive it to the collection point, and heave it out of the car onto the pile. My car alone held about 14 bags and I made 6 trips.

          But I must be doing something right because here I am the next day and my back and shoulders are still in one piece, thank heaven.