June 19, 2019

What do you mean it’s Wednesday? We just had a Wednesday! Yesterday, wasn’t it? What’s going on here?

Does that refrain sound familiar to you? It’s one that’s echoed silently in my mind, by now featuring every single day of the darn week at one time or another. Of course, I never said anything out loud, in case people thought I was already losing what few marbles I have left.

And then Mr. Ashbury, just last week, said those words to me. It was a Tuesday. He was genuinely perplexed. Then he smiled at me and shrugged. And he said, a real confession, that he doesn’t pay attention to the days of the week because since he’s retired, it doesn’t really matter what day it is.

I think it’s because I’m more than a little anal that I’ve always kept track of the days. They fly by, but for the most part, I do keep track of them. They really do just zoom past so darn fast; I sometimes feel that we just had a Wednesday, and here we are again, so soon!

Mr. Ashbury on the other hand was being completely honest about not caring what day it is. He really doesn’t. Usually at least once a week he will ask me what day it is. When he tells me that he can never remember, I do tell him all he has to do is open his cell phone. Right there, on his menu screen, is the calendar icon that has the name of the day, and its position in the month.

His response to that was to tell me it’s easier to just ask me.

We’re continuing to get ready for our daughter and her dogs to move in. Her half of the upstairs, an area that is really very big (16 feet by 25 feet), is now complete, walls, ceiling and flooring. The drywall is up, mudded, sanded, and painted—both primer and finish coats. The flooring—laminate flooring in a shade of grey—is installed. They finished it yesterday. Now all that remains is for them to tidy up the debris of construction.

Our daughter decided that on moving day, which is Friday (yes, two days away), she’ll bring her dogs here with the first load. Since I’m not able to help with the move in, I will have the hounds—all of them—enclosed with me here in my office. It will be the first practical use of my two brand new office doors. I have not yet needed to close them so I can work, but I can if I have to and that, my friends, is awesome.

It shouldn’t take too long for our grandson and his friend to move her furniture in; there isn’t a lot she’s bringing with her. Just what goes in her bedroom, along with one sofa—a sectional—her television, her computer, a couple of bookshelves and a faux fireplace that she loves. That piece is heavy, but the upstairs is well fortified.

There are going to have to be some adjustments made by all of us, human and canine alike. I do believe in time that everything will be fine. Normal is, after all, just what you get used to. Her dogs know us, and the house, and the current canine-in-chief. Our daughter’s workday has never been standard since she began to work in home health care. As a Personal Service Worker, she visits clients in the community, and therefore everyday for her is a split-shift day. She begins usually at six a.m. and may have several clients close together and be done by mid-morning or very early afternoon. At that point she might be done for the day, or she may have to resume client visits at about six in the evening, until, sometimes, ten at night.

In the past, when she’s only had about an hour or so between client visits, she would stop in here, and stretch out on one of our recliners. She didn’t like to go home to her dogs that had been alone, only to have to go out again a short time later, leaving them alone again. That problem will be solved, because except for the odd appointment time, and grocery shopping times when we go out, her dogs won’t be alone at all.

They’ll have grandparents to crawl all over, and sleep on.

Looking at it all that way? The dogs really are going to be getting the sweetest part of this deal. Huh, I guess it really is a dog’s life.

Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury