Okay, it’s no longer Sunday

It is Wednesday and because I have switched trash companies, take out night is Tuesday, instead of Wednesday . . . and in the middle of the night, I remembered this. The trash is out there, if it hasn’t been picked up already and I am so happy that I have/had trash in my driveway. Once upon a time, I probably thought that would be a ridiculous sentence to write. Ah, well: Sic gloria mundi transit.

The electrician was here for two days and found some interesting plugs and connector boxes in various parts of the house. I now have working three-way switches, new plugs, four new ceiling fans, new lights in the kitchen and a bathroom . . . and a couple more little projects once I find the type of light I want. We did temporarily transfer the old kitchen light to a the dark eating nook so that we could see stuff other than gloom while I decide on a new fixture. The one I thought I would like didn’t pan out to be as it appeared on the website.

In other news, I ate two tomatoes yesterday and got “the trots.” I’m okay at this point, but yestday there was a lot of “NOW” urgency. Back in the days of outhouses, all the neighbors knew when someone had the trots. That’s when I learned the phrase; overhearing family members remarking about the man who lived across the road. (It seems when you had the trots, one chose to use the privy rather than the new-fangled indoor facility.)