I am at the end tonight. What to blahg about? I dunno. Life is kinda “meh” right now… Nothing good, nothing bad, definitely nothing much to look forward to. Work, home, work, home, yada yada.

The Landfill Front Room is filled with [more] stuff from The Commander’s life. A box of bags. Luggage, tote bags, evening purses, little bags that I made when I was in a serious fiber arts phase. Fiber arts books, some of them [maybe] valuable, some of them [probably] not, some of them copies (yes, copied on a copying musheen) placed into binders, most of them probably available on eBay or Alibris or wherever. A little plastic basket full of cables and cords to things I don’t think exist any more. Why this little plastic basket is in the bottom of a big cardboard box of *bags*, I do not know. Maybe I packed all of that stuff in there together. Maybe it was the GG. I don’t remember. I only remember days and days and days of (not enough) bubble wrap and (never enough) boxes. We never figured out where to buy banker’s boxes in Sault Ste. Siberia and we kept forgetting to buy them down here on The Planet (I know…) and so we kept driving by the back of the Sault Ste. Siberia KMart looking for discarded boxes. Any boxes… All of that stuff is slowly making its way down here to The Landfill, getting sorted out and either adopted or donated. Or thrown out… Yes. I am not shy about throwing some of The Commander’s stuff out. I think she is okay with that.

I remember when The Commander was still alive and kicking and offered her bags (and lots of other stuff) to people in the G3 and G4 generations of the fam. Sigh. The Landfill had been overflowing with stuff for years and even her grandchildren (G4) already owned too many possessions. It cracked me up when The Commander spent Christmas 2010 down here with us and took a look around and came to the conclusion that we did *not* need any of her stuff. “I looked in all of the drawers and they were all full!” Indeed. And I can still imagine her gleefully snooping around my house. I also caught her poking the faaarrrr. What a loverly old nonamoose.

Don’t let the door hit you? You know who I’m talking about, roight? It’s Michelle Bachmann and Le Marquis states all of this better than I can. I don’t quiiiite agree with his last sentence about the lord or whatever but it is HIS blahg and, as far as I’m concerned, he can write whatever the hell he wants to. That’s what makes the blogosphere world go ’round, so you go, Marquis. And Michelle? Good riddance.

Cheers!
Kayak Woman

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