Light Impact

A giant, absurdly fuzzy, wood-boring bee bumbled along the piece of driftwood in the sunny patio garden, looking in vain for a soft spot. The wood in question had drifted when dinosaurs roamed, and while it looked the same as that you’d find on a seashore or riverbank, it had turned to stone, and as such was impervious to any insects. Whereas it had tipped the scales at four pounds in its original incarnation, now it weighed about forty, all of which contrived to pinch the second segment of my right pinky finger purple when it fell onto the cast iron grate when I was positioning it in the fireplace few days ago.

I had been torso-deep in that same fireplace a bit earlier, cleaning out the ashes that choked it. “Just call me Cinderella!” I announced, as I sneezed behind my K94 mask while I swept and vacuumed. This Georgetown row house, that of a former ambassador, has loads of fascinating things to discover, from a Tiffany lamp (signed) to the petrified wood, various Middle Eastern artifacts, and all sorts of sterling silver. But it’s required so much cleaning! A colleague of mine mused that because these people (who have recently moved to a posh assisted living place) worked in the upper echelons of the State Department for so long, they were probably so used to having servants that they didn’t know how to take care of the house by themselves. She recalled a neighbor with a similar background who actually set her house on fire because she had beans cooking on the stove and assumed that a maid would remove it from the heat…forgetting that she was back in the US, there was no maid, and she was solely responsible for the cooking! Seldom have I seen a house that was in recent active occupation that is so dirty. I spent a whole day sweeping the rugs and baseboards. Yes, I know, like the fireplace, “it’s not our job to clean,” but dirty doesn’t sell, and if we want to command a premium for the good stuff, it’s got to be presented well. There are African masks and baskets, robes from the Caucausas, a Jeju Island stone grandpa (probably made in China), and all the dust in the world. I will have handled much of the dust by the beginning of this next week; this last week I have come back to my boss’s every night to stand in the shower, soaping myself from scalp to toenails several times in order to remove imbedded grime.

On Sunday, I had a minor car accident when dropping a friend off an her apartment across from the National Cathedral—I failed to turn out sufficiently into the road a swiped the driver’s side flank of a black Honda Civic. The owner was dropping off a friend of his as well, and was understandably quite upset, but thankfully not abusive. I apologized thoroughly and filed with my insurance on the spot, having him proofread my account of the incident. USAA called me to double-check my account on Monday morning and said they’d take care of his car. I hope they fix it perfectly—the light impact didn’t do anything worth noting to mine, but he was clearly taking great care to keep his showroom ready, and I was sorry to have messed up his afternoon. I went to evening church directly thereafter. Had totally forgotten it was Palm Sunday.

Thursday, I did my first grocery run in five weeks and spent $200 on basic supplies (no alcohol, eggs, or orange juice), using two $10 digital coupons I got from Lidl. I shopped shrewdly, but was disappointed to find that they’re no longer doing their $6 for two bagged salads, but have raised the prices to $3.39 per bag. I bought more ingredients for lentil and split pea soup. One of the chief reasons I was able to put off food shopping for so long was that my mom had given me tons of frozen soup, and I have been gradually eating my way through the freezer. So delicious, and so many different and exotic kinds! Mine are nowhere near as varied, but homemade soup is overall inexpensive and healthy, and since my digestive system now rebels against cold meals, it’s easy to warm up. Tomato sauce, legumes, onions, chicken broth and well-drained bacon all simmered together means that I can stay well-fed for a while.

I wrote this article while sitting on the floor of a client’s house, while the movers bustled about, packing everything up and carrying it out the front doors to trucks taking everything to donation or the dump. They were been busy for six hours, completely packing the trucks, but they couldn’t fit in the last few items (an avocado green washer/dryer combo, a non-working electric organ, and an extension ladder) and will have to return Monday. Thank God it wasn’t hot today—it was actually a little chilly and overcast this morning. I wrote while trying to keep out of the way, as the sooner the movers could get done, the sooner I could get to weighing and pricing silver for the next client. Nobody’s buying gold these days (even after the recent “market correction” that dropped the per-ounce price from $5000 to $4500), and silver’s so high we’re putting it right at or only slightly over melt (about $72 an ounce). Smelters are swamped, so dealers are offering way below melt if they are buying at all. But there is some extremely fine silver in this upcoming sale, including a Victorian reticulated wedding basket that’s in perfect condition. I hope someone who will cherish it will buy it for its artistic value, not just its metal worth.

I am looking forward to going back south. My mom’s kitchen remodel is almost done and her “Plantapalooza” garden giveaway is coming up. She’s bought a scanner so I can begin the long, involved process of digitizing the family photo albums. I can also only stand so much discussion of politics—the proximity to madness in DC is itself maddening. I need to wash my car (particularly to remove last Sunday’s scuff marks), but there’s pollen coating everything, so it seems like an exercise in futility. My boss is having more than a score of people over for Easter dinner—thank God, she agreed to use paper plates instead of her Imari!—and is suffering from hostess panic. I am more concerned about the mice in the basement guestroom. After capturing the tenth, I ordered some electronic devices that were supposed to repel rodents, but both I and my boss’s autistic son were supremely irritated by the sound (the frequency is allegedly not audible to humans—hah!) and I pulled them out of the walls within hours. I may be going deaf in a practical sense, but I am still bothered by sound supposedly too high for most people to hear. It was like those stupid dog whistles in high school that guys would shrill in the hallways between classes. But of course I couldn’t complain about those for obvious reasons…