Catching up on other things in life

There’s a downside to throwing all of myself for months into a passionate hobby like sailing. Nothing else around here gets done.
The grass grew eight inches, and dust settled in thick layers on windowsills and end tables—reminding me of what an abandoned house must look like.
The laundry was ignored until I ran out of underwear and was forced to dig out the dreaded “thong thing” I swore never to don again.
Garbage day was missed so many times that I needed to buy “bag tags”—and used the whole package in one day.
What used to be the vegetable garden is now a weed patch overrun with thistles and crab grass. And oh yes, let’s not forget about Mr. Squirrel, who during my sailboat frenzy found himself a mate and had a family of their own inside my sleeping bag in the garage.
The general lifelessness around here also signalled an infiltration of 32 geese that have been pooping themselves in just about every corner of my yard, including at my back door.
My daughters and grandchildren haven’t seen me in so long that they’ve started to rely on photographs to remind themselves of what I look like.
While my sailboat is a shiny new penny, the other three quarters of my life has toppled into the red flag district of neglect.
Sometimes I feel like peanut butter melted to a thin paste in the hot summer sun and spreadable only in transparent layers. Spread thin—very, very thin.
It was my goal this past weekend to answer some of “today’s” questions, such as “Do I remember what a dust mop looks like?” “What is a vacuum cleaner?” and “When was the last time I took a stroll through the field?”
I was amazed to see, during my field trip, that the hay mixture out there is nearly waist-high. How did that happen so fast and how did I miss it?
I also was reintroduced to wood ticks. A walk in the field made me fair game.
I didn’t find the tick on the inside arch of my foot until I was in the shower. I thought it was a piece of fuzz.
When I tried to flick it off, the tick got stuck to my index finger—causing me to freak out as I tried to boil it off with the shower head and down the drain, where I then imagined it clinging to the side of the pipe until the middle of the night, when it would crawl back up the drain hole and be waiting for me on the toilet seat in the morning.
It’s amazing how scared I get of something so small (right up there with thong underwear) and yet I’m willing to strike out again alone in a sailboat after a rocky adventure in a storm.
Nonetheless, I am back up to speed around here. I managed to clean my bathroom, relocate the squirrel family, cut the grass, do laundry, dust, bake some muffins, and make plans to get reacquainted with my six little peppers.
And then I took my dad sailing and we had fun. I really can do it all.

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