During Labor Day weekend we stayed at a condo at the Snow King Resort in Jackson, Wyoming. It was very nice and had an attached garage where we could park our car. Only, they had this sign posted above our parking space:
Which, now why would they post such a sign? To cover their butts, perhaps, in case we were having an absolutely horrible time at their resort during our getaway weekend, and were devising ways to get ourselves out of our misery? So, in such circumstances, they could tell the authorities they cued us not to shut ourselves in their garage with the car running?
I need visual cues in my home environment to keep myself sane, focused, and prioritized. Our home is plastered with cues, in the form of signs and fridge magnets. Here’s what’s posted above the mirror in our kitchen:
So as to remind me and other members of our household, that, although it’s a great weekend fantasy to imagine that we have escaped to a Bed and Breakfast, I’m not going to be the staff of five that transforms our home environment into the experience.
As you enter our house from the garage you pass this sign:
Which reminds me every day to imagine the potential for happiness if I could just live relaxedly in a mess. Because the HyperPhysics law of entropy (the measure of disorder) applies to nothing in the universe if not to a clean house, that is, quite simply, by the law of entropy, a clean house spontaneously turns dirty. You can literally stand and watch the mess drop and grow before your eyes. And if you expect your house to be clean, then, uh, you (or someone!) have to clean it, continually. And if your housekeeper has quit (dammit!) then, ‘clean’ becomes the new ‘ugly’ with your nagging and gnashing of teeth at the ones you love, rising to new heights: “Off with your shoes, NOW!” – “Hey! Brush that off outside!” “Put your crap away!” “Who made that spill and just left it there?” “WHAT WERE YOU, BORN IN A BARN?” “OUT YOU GO!” You’re a witch now, trolling the house, conspiring to capture and euthanize the pets to be rid of their incessant messes, and every living creature around you is hiding from you because you “JUST CLEANED THE HOUSE AND AIM TO KEEP IT THAT WAY!”, which is, as I said, impossible. Contemplate the wonders of living in a hovel, I say. Messiness is bliss.
Uh … so, where was I? Oh! This little magnet is posted at eye level beside the fridge handle, cueing us
to back off! – making us feel like porkys as we cozy up to the fridge, poised to ransack its contents in the unfettered act of pigging out. Only, typically, each sideways glance at that fridge magnet elicits not one whit of restraint or shamefulness. Should probably toss that magnet out.
This next fridge magnet, the one with the bit about hard work, provides continual comfort and justification for me in my quest to avoid hurting myself:
Which … partly explains why there has been a huge mound of soil sitting atop the vegetable garden for six weeks, that I was supposed to work into the existing soil. Now it’s a huge mound of soil sprouting vibrant thistles and tall weeds.
But, Hey! Success at not hurting myself explains away the weedy mound. That, combined with, I suppose, some measure of … laziness?
My hubby posted a few signs of his own. Like this one by the ping pong table in the basement rec room:
Ha ha. Uhhhhh … Who more interesting? Me?? Awwwww. Okay, I give. I mean, I’m gonna give into the urge right now to lay down, until the feeling that I might could do something to improve my personality passes.
Girls Rule!
This is a pretty dumb blog. But at least at this juncture I can proudly state that, generally, I’m not at a point to where I’m devising ways to get myself out of my misery. In other words, I don’t need to post that sign above my car in our garage to cue me not to shut myself in the garage while sitting in the car with the engine idling.
So … so far, so good. So long as I don’t hurt my back, or shoulder, or pinky finger, or something.
Or let the freakin’ housework make me ugly.
The Decompression of a Boomer 
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