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invading the annex
Friday, March 23 2018
Because we'd be flying across the Atlantic tomorrow night, leaving our house in the care of a house sitter, today was a cleanup day. First, though, Nancy and her dog Jack came over to walk with Gretchen and our dogs in the forest. When that was done, Nancy and Gretchen collaborated on the design for the cover of Gretchen's new collection of prison-themed poems. Nancy is a graphic designer, and evidently Gretchen has hired her to apply her magic to this project.
The first major act of cleaning came when Gretchen took a load of trash and recycling to the dump, and back at the house she waged a surprisingly-thorough cleaning jihad, mostly in the kitchen and living room. Meanwhile, I was doing tasks like cleaning up dogshit from the yard, burying the mostly-tea-bags laboratory compost, and cleaning out all the ashes from the woodstove. At some point Gretchen and I worked together to stockpile burnable wood in the living room's wood rack. The last of the final woodshed tranche had been resting directly on the ground and had picked up moisture there, so I was forced to pull wood out of the annex, which contains wood I haven't touched in nearly five years.
The weather was colder than it had been yesterday, but, given the diminishing amount of snow, it was still plenty springlike. This was enough to get Celeste the Cat excited, and she ran around several times today ducking behind things and pouncing on pinecones.
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Meanwhile, Donald Trump's chaotic shambles of a presidency continues to thrash around like an animal dying of rabies. Last night he decided to hire John Bolton as his National Security Advisor. In a just society, John Bolton would be laughed out of every room he entered. He's even more famous for his failed predictions than Larry Kudlow. Since John Bolton can't imagine any solution to an international problem that doesn't involve a war, I'm really glad I don't live in South Korea right now. Having surrounded himself with crazies, the only remaining check on Trump's worst instincts is whatever goods Vladimir Putin has on him. God have mercy on us!
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