It must be in my cards to be sick this week. I can feel it. Certain things have shaped up to make me sick this week, it will simply have to be. Fine. I give in.
Color me sick.
Something that is helping this sick state is the endless planning Didge and I are doing with regards to our house. The closer we get to completing the protracted process of purging (one things leads to another), the more ideas we get. The latest is a backyard oasis, Didge's concept, that's promising to be very cool. There will be seating, lighting, and pink flamingos.
Of course, there is a trickster deep within Didgeridoo Boy, and for a good hour on Friday he had me convinced that idea had been scrapped in favor of (now, get this) a small-scale landscape for the collection of motorized WWII models he's planning to build. I've agreed to the pirate ship games on the deck, as those would only involve temporary props and costumes for Didge and Totsi the Dog, but that? No. I want a backyard oasis. I do not want bunkers, trenches, and little toy tanks going POP when their little guns go little off. My nerves. They still hurt.
He finally told me he was kidding, which I hope he was serious about. His frowny response to my counter-offer of a sandbox indicated, I think, that he was somewhat serious about this, i.e. he was fibbing about having been kidding. Toys in the dining room I can handle. Vintage string art? I'm down. Framing the Pin the Tail on the Donkey poster we picked up at the dollar store? Sure thing. Miniature living history where I want a nice canopy, some chairs, and some retro patio lights so I can sip sangria and pretend I'm all swanky? No, sir.
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