Housework. The bane of my existence. It has always been the most repetitive, thankless job there ever was. I love the way the house looks when it's done; it's the knowing it will have to be done all over again tomorrow, undoubtedly the basis for the saying, "Woman's work is never done." Like trying to empty the ocean with a thimble, it never ends. In the midst of inside chores yesterday afternoon, the pull of outdoors became too great and I grabbed a book and Bessie Anne and I escaped to the deck. It was perfect sit-outside weather, warm sun, blue sky, and cooling breeze. And then I heard them. Had I not been playing hooky, I would have missed the first waves of wild geese heading north. They take my breath away every year. Flying high, the Vs form and reform as the leaders, who do the hard work of "breaking" the air for the others, give way to new leaders and fall back in line for a breather. Every year, I hear Frankie Laine singing that song from the '50s, "My heart knows what the wild goose knows, and I must go where the wild goose goes." Once begun, this migration could go on for days. The book forgotten in my lap, I could only sit and watch and listen.
Frank has been struck with a bad case of the Needys. Pearl has always been more aloof than Frank, but yesterday afternoon he was stuck to me like a burr. If I sat down, he was in my lap. He was at my side if I went outdoors. We went from room to room together inside. He slept on my feet all night long. Normally I roll out of bed as soon as my eyes open. This morning he sat on my chest, head-butting until I petted him, purring and, yes, drooling. I enjoy his company, of course, but this approaches ridiculous. He's sitting on my feet as I write. Ah, well. It could be worse.