It seems that through the week socks, washcloths, underwear and towels meet in the dark corners of the house and make babies. While in the dark corners, the socks especially meet the dust bunnies, and the result is a barnstormer of a mess.
So that's my Saturday in a nutshell. Vacuum in one hand, coffee in the other.
And I like it that way.
What a load of baloney. In people like me, imagination can morph into reality in the drop of a coin. Ever wonder why so many creative people seem so eccentric? It's just their attempt to distract themselves from their own powerful imagination, locked inside themselves like their own personal dragon- only occasionally restrained enough to give the gatekeeper peace.
Recently, in mid-chores, I noticed something peculiar; on nearly every windowsill was a penny. Suspending my tasks for a moment, I examined each one. Noting their locations on the laundry room, bathroom, spare room, sitting room and kitchen windows, the only remarkable thing about them was that they were unremarkable. No special shine or abrasions, ordinary dates; just disks of tarnished copper.
With the heavy sigh of a long-suffering housekeeper, I gathered them all up and slid them into the pocket of my sweatpants so I could dust the ledges and carry on with my day. Approaching the penny pot, the weight of coins jingling dully, I stopped. If I added them to the spare change cup, I would only be 5 cents richer. If I left them where they were- on the windowsills- perhaps they would serve as a reminder of the value of the Everyday. The Commonplace. The Familiar. The Standard. The Normal..
Nothing invented, no embellishment, only non-fiction pennies.
Those humdrum disks of minted metal are still there in their places- each a tiny talisman to ward off the stories that stalk me.
Maybe someday the story of each will reveal itself.
Then again, maybe not.