900
The church library.
We were quickly running out of time in a project I, most of the time, forgot I had promised to direct. I carved out Wednesday, in full if necessary, to complete with Mom and another church lady the sorting, labeling, and shelving 900 of the current adult and youth items waiting for assimilation.
First, on the ride out that morning, Puck expressed concerns for being kid-sat by his second Snicketts uncle…
“Everything turns into a wrestling contest!” he protested.
The Bear, not so concerned, rehearsed the Greek alphabet for his first day in class as he detoured past the little field near the library where the Remax balloon was about to launch.
I was more tired than I expected, leaving the church at two o’clock following four and a half hours on my boots, and hauling the Fit over to jump the green van at the YMCA, with a cheese stick for lunch. But it had to be, had to be done.
Carrie-Bri had taken over the Puck-watching after a bee sting between the toes earlier in the morning, cleaning out the bunny cages in the corner yard, and Joe joined Magnus and friends for lunch while the kids attended choir camp.
I took some time to catch up on papers on the porch – feeling cold again. A trio of exterior painters were climbing ladders at the house catty corner across the street. Their radio buzzed. One of them instigated a double-take on my part, when I accidentally imagined the tarp he dragged across the lawn as an anaconda skin.
Meanwhile, the garage had been painted over in a soft gray – part of it – and most items removed for Monday night’s photo shoot. Mom was anxious to return the items as soon as possible. Apparently we’re to expect a gully-washer of two to four inches, stemming from this Hurricane Isaac in the Caribbean.
I’m all for that.
Mom brought us – Carrie, me, and Puck – out for ice cream before it got too late.
I’m all for that, too.
Around the time Puck got busy carving a hospital out of an apple core with an hors d’oeuvres pick over dinner back home, my day was ready to be done.
Thought of the Day
I may have mentioned this before, but I like to study old postcards from abroad, posted somewhere between the late 1800’s and 1920. Those rectangles of soft edges, black and white, sometimes hand-colored, images of the pyramids, unscathed ancient cities of the Far or Near East, moderately uncharted ruins and mystic carved architecture from times no one even seems to remember.
I really believe that the turn into the 20th century would have been a gemmy time for international travel.
If you were wealthy.
Everything was changing in the world of travel; luxury had arrived. But I wouldn’t have booked passage to Egypt just for the velvet steamer drapes, gold teaspoons, and salmon served on the train [especially not that]. I would have been profoundly more fascinated over the surge of archaeological unveilings.
No fences.
No red tape.
No government intervention.
Just bring a pail and spade.
Well… not really, I guess. But the point is, ancient things were waiting under the sand, mud, and rock of thousands of years, just waiting to pop back out. Peruvian rainforests? Saudi deserts? Aztec cities? Ming temples?
No problem.
The world was being rediscovered.
Everything was new and freshly ancient.
I would have loved that.