I am a slug. I have achieved some sort of house-sitting-non-vacation nirvana and I don’t feel even remotely productive. That is unfortunate because I still have 2 jobs, still have to go to work, do laundry, the whole nine yards. It is some sort of limbo not being fully in one place or the other. It is fascinating – I’ve never had this sensation before. I’m fully convinced I will show up at work in clam digger pants and one of my husband’s old shirts, and on a day I can be house sitting I’ll get up, shower, do the hair and make-up bit and go sit in the living room and make applique grapes (don’t ask) for the next quilt project taking shape in my head.
This summer’s best-selling t-shirt at Joe’s store says, “Say no to pot!” Next to that, there is a cartoon of a lobster pointing to a boiling pot of water. It’s pretty cute. Last night there were 3 lobsters that said YES to a pot. We steamed them, then took them out on the front porch and cracked, dunked, poked and inhaled their buttery goodness. It was delish. Not to be wasteful, we put all the shells and bits of legs into a zip lock bag and in to the freezer. Next time we are wanting some shrimp scampi, we’ll pull the bag out of the freezer and use the shells to make a lovely broth. Being married to the son of a fisherman has its perks – the man does things with fish that make my head explode. It’s a good thing he can because all of his bad habits at home are starting to show up at the house-sitting-house, including his unexplainable penchant for leaving cupboard doors wide open in the kitchen. It makes me NUTS.
I wish I could go back to house-sitting-house and take a nap. I even brought one of mom’s quilts over there to crawl under and just bliss off to sleep. I take the BEST naps over there. I am a slug. I have the slows.