(caution, old rock titles and dark humor ahead) Eva Destruction.....
Yep, still cleaning and organizing with my own particular form of vengeance.
This past week found me tearing apart my clothes closet, trying everything on to see: what fit, what needs repairs, what goes with what, and what needs to go. After almost 3 hours of costume changing, I ended up with a pile of clothes on the bed that took almost as long to sort and put away. My fiber work for now is incrementally working on a large pile of mending and hemming. (I still have to sort through the shoes.)
Yesterday was particularly messy:
First, the washing machine overflowed the laundry tub, right before my very eyes. It was one of those experiences where I was walking into the laundry room and what I was seeing was so unexpected it took a moment to register before reacting. Then it took another half hour to clean up the mess.
From that mess I went to chipping a huge chunk off the surface of one of the doors in the family room with the vacuum cleaner. That too took time and a little wood glue to repair....and will need paint in the near future. (Good thing we'll be painting in there in the next week or two.)
Next on the ever destructive housecleaning list were the baseboard heating units. While taking those apart to wash and vacuum all the dust and cat hair before heating season, I got a huge gash in one of my fingers from the sheet metal. That's what I get for thinking about turning on the heat on a 90 degree day in October in Michigan.
However there was one humorous SNAFU to the day: I clean to rock music......loud rock music. Our telephone number is only one digit different than the township police. In the past 29 years our number has been printed as the police number one time (that I know of for certain), and depending on the print quality of the phone book, their 3 will look like our 8. So, it's not that unusual for us to get police calls. They seem to come in spurts. It's been awhile since we've had any of those calls.
About 4 PM yesterday the phone rang, the rock music was playing, I looked at the caller ID and the name sounded familiar so I picked up. The phone was just out of reach of the music intercom and the refrain from When the Bullet Hits the Bone was playing loud and clear. On the other end of the phone a young man asked incredulously, "Is this the police department?!" When I said, "No, you have the wrong number", he sounded so relieved.
Dark comedy to wrap up the day.
Now to wrap up this post: I clearly remember seeing this on tv when it first aired in 1965.
The message is as relevant today as it was in 1965. It's a tune that is often in my head.
Ever wonder what happened to Barry McGuire? Google him....