I really don’t like it too much when people launch off into a long narration about their dreams; I will not do that. But if I did, it would include walking though a maze of concrete block rooms with hogs in them sleeping on straw. I had someone’s baby in my arms; I think it was a girl because she had a pink ruffled outfit. There is much, much more, but I take pity and will work my way through the aftermath by myself.

Aha, today is Day 2 of cleaning, which means people are going to start to feel scared. One day was an anomaly; two days will not bode well for the slobmeisters. I’ll bet they plan some out-of-house activity for Wednesday. I know, we could all go to Mother’s and clean. See, I’m ready for them – I have my back-up plan. I can really put fear into them; I can send someone to the store for more trash bags. I wonder if October is bringing the real witch in me out of the closet. The thing is: Our house is so cluttered, I know I have a pointy, black, authentic witch’s hat here someplace.

That reminds me, it will soon be time  for the Pilgrim Hunt for Thanksgiving. Got to find the turkey that hangs from the chandelier also. He usually stays until Christmas because I feel sorry for him; I think I hang bells and holly on him. (The little Pilgrims I put in obscure spots on one of the trees so they can celebrate too.) Yes, I am a kook. Two days ago I considered springing for a cottage Christmas decorating magazine. Then I saw the price – in a teeny font – specifying $5.99 in the U.S. and a dollar more in Canada. I think I can do festive without that expense.

I’m thinking about this already because, at least I think because – it will be one year this 17th since Mother died and I have not progressed very far in improving my life, which I should have done before my parent’s died, but I guess they knew me and were used to it. Last year, with Thanksgiving and Christmas looming after the burial on the 24th and Der Bingle getting a blood clot in early December, we stumbled through. And I think it was stressful for the kids, after all. On Christmas Day, I was dreading sitting down at the table and when Cameron said he was hungry, we spontaneously had a buffet dinner. The atmosphere was full of relief – no sitting down looking at the empty place at the table. This year, I don’t know what we will do.

Of course, if plane schedules work out, Quentin will be here and that will help us make the adjustment to a missing Grandma on Christmas. I am making no plans; I am just going to prepare the house and pantry for Christmas and let things take their own course – no schedule, no deadlines, just taking things as they come.

I feel bad about Mother being dead. I know that sounds inane. I know she is protected now from the things going awry in life that upset her so, but she didn’t want to miss out on things. She used to talk about how they would remember her. She didn’t need to have worried. They remember her often as a strong-willed, do what she could for them, very well-dressed and accessorized feisty lady. Someone shows some spirit on TV or in a movie and  am sure to hear, “Wow. that’s Grandma GiGi.”

You know, when I came home from the meeting with the school official who spoke of Summer being expelled because she had been sick for seven days, people told me, “Your mother would have taken him apart.” Oh, yeah. Say, Mother, mid-term progress reports are coming out and Summer has all A’s and in advanced classes too. Just thought I’d add that in.

Okay, I’ve come to the place where I take a deep breath, look at today, and start working on the house and myself.