Pickety pickety pick. I am still picking away at my long-term Flinging Operation. A while back, I think I mentioned that I had a mini-goal of getting the “Guest Room” de-cluttered enough that an actual guest could sleep there without feeling like something might fall on them. By Thanksgiving Weekend. Not sure if I ever reported back about that but… I DID! YAY! I was even able to vacuum up the Big Chunks in there!

Not that we had a “real” guest. It was “just” Lizard Breath and that’s the bedroom she and Mouse shared as children until about the time Liz went to middle school. Poor Jay had to sleep in there last summer, one of the times it was a total disaster.

Anyway, I refrained from most flinging activities for most of the Thanksgiving weekend. I refuse to do anything but chitchen-type duties on Thanksgiving Day. I telecommuted to work on Friday. I spent yesterday walking down to the farmer’s market and doing other stuff with Liz.

This morning, I flung leftover Hollandaise sauce by making Eggs Benny for breakfast. After a morning Frog Hopper cruise, I flung a few more leftovers for lunch. And then I got busy picking away at more things that could be donated, etc. The boots in the pic were already gone via Lizard Breath. Her feet are a size smaller than mine but these 30-year-old boots were always snug on me, so we’ll see. She really needs her own NEW pair but all the college students these days are emulating my dad and his veteran greenhorn friends back in the late 1930s and these boots are sold out until I do not know when.

In the late afternoon, I dragged myself out for another walk. One of my mantras is that if you are unhappy with the weather, SUIT UP FOR IT AND GET OUT THERE! Seriously, you will feel better! And I did. Until I walked by The Prosecutor’s Mom’s House. I think her actual name was Joyce. I used to walk by there frequently and Joyce would often be out, impeccably dressed and manically picking up little bits of “stuff” (leaves or whatever) from her perfectly manicured lawn. She always wanted to talk and I had trouble getting away and sometimes I would actually sneak a look down that way and go a different way so I didn’t have to talk to her forever. I am *not* that social a person. I don’t really think she had any form of dementia but not sure… I *think* she was just working to keep up her life-long standard of appearances, although it was obvious that someone else was keeping up her impeccable lawn.

Today, for the first time in a long time, I walked up Miller from Duncan to N. Maple. I walked past a house with lots of lights on inside, no drapes, and NOTHING in it. And a pickup truck in the driveway with garbage bags in it. I did a double-take. I counted houses from the corner — one. It was Joyce’s house and I was kind of gobsmacked even though I have known this kind of day would come… I don’t know if she’s dead or if The Prosecutor and whatever siblings he may have needed to move her into a different living situation. I am sad for her in either case but especially if the latter is true. But I empathize with all of them.

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