Clutter and Chaos

One of the catch phrases from my childhood was a fairly regular reference by one or the other of my parents to "Fibber McGee's Closet."  While I was never entirely sure, as a young child, exactly what the genesis of the expression might have been, it didn't take any particular genius to figure out that it refered to some sort of out of control clutter and mess.  I was much older when I learned that Fibber McGee and Molly were popular characters from the days of old time radio.  Running continuously from 1935 until 1959, the program ended when I was only four -- far too young to actually remember it.  Still, tonight, sitting here trying to put my thoughts in order; trying to write something coherent about these last days and weeks, I am feeling like my poor swirling brain is every bit as cluttered as the "closet" that so entertained my parents and their contemporaries.

I could write about --

• All the various trials and tribulations that poor Master has bumped into as He's worked to settle His dad's affairs.  What a very odd and strange set of rituals and rules we've strung up around the business of dying.  There have been so many people that we've dealt with who have been remarkably good and helpful.  On the other hand, there have been an astonishing number of total incompetents who have made the entire process way more difficult and complex than it really had to be.  In recent days, it has seemed that most of the lose ends are tied off.  The deluge of paper has subsided.  Things are beginning to settle. 
• Fridays.  T's work schedule is such that she works Monday through Thursday (10 hour days), and then has Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off.  For the last two weeks, on Friday, I've gone off to school, all unsuspecting, only to arrive home to find that Master and T have purchased new cars.  Yes.  Cars!  Two weeks ago, it was a brand new, tiny little, bright blue SMART car -- the car that T has dreamed of and longed for ever since she first saw one in the movie, 'The DaVinci Code.'  Then, last Friday, I came home from school to find a brand new, garnet-red Hyundai Tucson sitting in the driveway.  ARRRRGHHH!  Have I ever mentioned how really bad I am about surprises?  Those two need to find some other way to amuse themselves on Fridays.

• The spanking bench is finally working the way it was designed to do.  With the kneeler installed, it isn't difficult to get on it and find a place of relative comfort.  I do find that I need some sort of support under my hips -- a couple of pillows seem to work just fine.  That raises my hips up enough so that every stroke doesn't feel as if it is traveling directly up my spine to smack into the base of my skull.  We've got a set of macrame'd restraints,  made for us a long time ago by a friend, and they work well to fasten me to the thing so that I'm not going to "run away."  I had a spanking on it on Sunday afternoon -- following a whole raft of interuptions and distractions that made it seem like we were never going to get to play.
• Like the toilet.  We woke up Sunday morning and made love.  We were just getting ready to think about starting to play when the toilet got clogged and WOULD NOT BUDGE.   We plunged it over and over and over and over and over and over...  until we finally gave up and called a plumber. 
• Like a "coin collection."  One of the holdovers from Master's dad is this business of collecting coins.  Grandpa had an extensive collection of coins, and shortly after His death, we took His collection and sold it to a local coin dealer.  Having done that, Master was insistent that there were other coins around here that could be sold as well.  So...  on Saturday morning, He and T loaded up some bits and pieces of coinage, and went off to sell the whole lot of them, netting us a grand total that came in just under $50.
• Like shopping for new floors.  We are planning to have the old, worn carpet removed from our two condos, so that we can replace it with laminate flooring.  It's a thing we've imagined doing forever, but we are finally able to manage it financially.  That project has necessitated a batch of visits from various contractors to measure the space and bid for the job.  What an absolutely overwhelming array of choices and details!
• I've been simply amazed by the thoughtfulness of readers here -- those people that my creepy anonymous commenter refers to, derisively, as "my" readers.  Of course, they aren't MY readers.  They are their own people with their own views and values, and they honor me (and us) by their participation here. 

• And as for anonymous -- for some unknown reason, the poor soul seems compelled to follow along here, all the while proclaiming how awful it is to view our less than "perfect" bodies portrayed on the web.  On days when I'm not feeling especially solid and stable, the barbs find their marks.  Still, mostly I'm mature and living a life that I've chosen.  So, from now on, the official response to the anonymous nonsense is from Glinda, The Good Witch -- "You have no power here.  Begone, before someone drops a house on you, too."
• He and I are launching out onto the uncharted waters of sexual reconnection.  We've been drifting further and further apart for the last number of years -- as I've suppressed my own desires in favor of focusing on His pleasure, I've unwittingly pushed Him away.  He's been bewildered and confused.  I've been frustrated and angry.  It's been a mess.  Last night, for the first time, we actually managed to talk reasonably about IT.  There's no easy answer, but we are on the path to figuring it out.
• Saturday evening, we went to dinner at Red Lobster with T's mom and niece.  Lobster Fest has been an annual "event" for all of us for many years, and this year's dinner had particular poignancy as we all remembered how scary those first weeks after T's mom's stroke were.  It was a nice dinner, and then Mom's oxygen tank ran low, and she got very panicky and distressed.  We got the tank replaced, and she calmed down, but we were all stunned at how dependent she's become on the supplemental oxygen.  Today, she had an appointment with her pulmonologist, and he took one look at her and sent her directly to the hospital.  We still don't know what the diagnosis will be.  T and her brother are at the hospital, while Master and I wait anxiously for some word... 

So, there you have it, friends.  If you've wondered why it's been quieter than usual here, it is because we are simply buried in the avalanche of things that seem to have fallen out of our very own Fibber McGee's closet...

swan