Have any of you ever started to think your house was built on a Native American burial ground or some shit like that? Because I have. J put on a load of whites for me yesterday afternoon, because we were
dangerously low on towels and washcloths. I go out to hang them up... the sun porch floor was wet. The washer leaked. We turned off the water, and I spent nearly all day on the porch, which in one was was good... I threw a bunch of junk away. I got that done, dried the floor(which you can actually see a lot more of now!), then turned the water back on and ran a small load. It's leaking somewhere at the end of the spin cycle. When J's back gets better, he's going to either see if he can fix this one or we'll go pick up the one from the house in Rhine.
Despite this, I managed to spend a few minutes in the yard. My straw pinks are blooming, and my marigold and zinnia seeds have come up and are doing well.
Yesterday's good thing should have been that I took the wrap off my leg and foot. It got soaked in the porch fiasco. I had a shower and felt clean for the first time since it got wrapped.
With all that happened, we ended up having hot dogs for dinner. But with homemade hot dog chili. The chili was sweet, which J didn't care for, but I liked it.