While I worked today, I was just my normal dwarf self, plodding along. I only call myself a dwarf because I am short and others sometimes make jokes. Actually, I guess I think of myself as a munchkin – but then they were played by dwarves so it must all be semantics.

I don’t know why whistling – both the concept and the not doing it – popped into my head. Maybe it is because I feel like whistling now that I am showered and moisturized and sitting. Whatever.

This morning, as soon as I had delivered Cameron to school, I gathered up gas cans and filled them and then I filled the mower. I went slowly because I had the predicted high of 89 stuck in my head. It was only 80 at the time (felt like 83) but that 89 was intimidating – considering we had a fire for warmth  just a few days ago.

After a bracer of pink lemonade,  I went upstairs and pulled stuff out of closets and pre-sorted it and folded things that weren’t folded but were looming in hulking piles. About four hours, I’d say. Do you know that gathering up hangers that have colonized the storage closet floor can be very tedious?

Do you know that when you sit in the entrance to a closet and pull stuff out and put it behind you, you often find yourself walled into said closet? In my case I fell forward in a flop and then moved across the expanse like a swimmer in jell-o.

I did take a break in the de-hoarding  of the closet and other spaces to be the Goddess of Cool Air and hooked up the portable air-conditioner in the southwest room that heats up so much despite double-paned windows and thermal curtains. It was so much anything to do with the goodness of the Goddess’ heart, but that the modem and airport are in that room.

This is a boring post – but I just had to boast. About all that working.

Of course, there is tomorrow and Mother’s yard and, uh, deciding how to arrange the stuff that fell in the keep category.

Time to do my boasting dance . . .  hop, leap and reach for the sky, twirl while coming down, do several knee high steps, a little skip, maybe hula like an Aztec. Oops, I’m losing it  . . .