Those wicked winds last week tore a good chunk of the house wrap off. Apparently it's of little concern*, as Scott found other things to do on the weekend rather than tack it back up. He even seriously considered driving to Humboldt to do some sales shopping and, had I agreed to go along, would've.
It was the last thing I felt like doing with a day off. I baked bread instead. Got the dishes done. Had a nice relaxing bath. Running around when I don't have to, even to please someone looking for a companion, seems unwise to me. All I wanted to do was stay home.
An old beau once translated this philosophy from French to English: "I like to please others, but not at my own displeasure." These are still words to live by, more than 30 years later. Maybe they allow me to be selfish or self-serving. I hope not. Maybe they remind me to respect and care for my own needs as much as those of others. I think so.
My sales shopping consisted of flipping through a Sears catalogue, circling the things I wanted to buy, underlining the order numbers, sizes and colours, and then throwing the catalogue onto a pile of recyclable papers in the porch. I don't need any of that stuff and won't be making any phone call to order it.
I do covet a good pair of pull-on walking boots though, and have my eye on a pair of Blundstones. I have shared this information with my spouse, who did not give me a Christmas present and feels sheepish—as well he should. My birthday is coming up so he can kill two birds with one stone, if he wishes. And if not, I shall buy them for myself. I'll be 55. Fifty-friggin-five! Still alive! Let's jive! I can't drive ... 55!
* As is often the case, there is method to Scott's madness. The torn house wrap is wrecked and has to be replaced with new.
