If you are friends with me on Facebook, then you've already seen these pictures. (Sorry. Suffer!) If you aren't, then these will be new to you.
I took this picture out the window as we were traveling home from Thanksgiving in my hometown. I had posted another picture, and then my brother--who has lived in TX for over 20 years--replied with a snarky (What? Snarky? One of my relatives? Unbelievable!) comment about my picture having no silos. So while this was meant to be a "There! Are you happy now?" sort of picture, it wound up making me really happy. When I was younger, I hated living in the Midwest; couldn't wait to live somewhere else. But now that I'm older, I appreciate it for what it is. There is beauty in those farm fields.
Mary drew this for me at school. When I first read it, I thought it said "...my happiness lives inside of meth..." It both startled and amused me. Because I am twisted. But the drawing and the sentiment have made me happy each time I see it.
Apparently these folks don't realize they are supposed to be living in our cul-de-sac. They live about a mile down the road. I call them the Griswolds. I kid you not, every bit of the house that you can't see in the photo looks like the part that you can see. It's awesome in a Griswold sort of way. Their neighbors, by the way, have greenery and a string of lights over their door and that's it. They are the us of their neighborhood.
This house is from our old neighborhood. We used to call it the "Devil House." Everything is in red lights--even the bulbs in the chandelier in the foyer. I think that red glow would throw me into a seizure. Or drive me crazy like Kramer on Seinfeld in the Kenny Rogers chicken episode. This homeowner really likes red. Or Satan.
I spent all of yesterday cleaning the dung heaps that
are were my children's bedrooms. We got news that we will be having some company on Thursday and we are delighted. But this meant that the cleaning I was planning on doing next week had to be moved up. I picked up, straightened, sorted, purged, organized, dusted, vacuumed, bent, stooped, knelt, stretched, cursed, shook my head, and muttered. Their rooms were disgusting. Slobs--all of them! Their closets were the despairing depths of hell. But they are finished. I left all of them notes when I was done. They are all variations of this one, which I left on James' chalkboard wall. (Mary's had good old fashioned threats of Santa watching.) My methods may be twisted, but nobody left their dirty clothes on the floor last night.