Tired and feathered

Today was weird. Seattle is smoky from all of the wild fires. It's opaque outside. Opaque! It has the illusion of a cloudy autumn day, only without the crispness. Without the oxygen. But it's 86 degrees. We're suffocating! Make it stop! Stop this madness!

See? Opaque!

Something else that has been unnerving me lately is the fact that my parents' backyard is being littered with crow feathers. My dad tells me he picks "at least 20 to 30 feathers a day" off the lawn. Is this normal?

While I'm on the subject, let's settle a bet. Are feathers filthy, plague-ridden animal parts not to be touched? Or are they fun, tickly adornments for the tops of sand castles? I grew up believing the latter and I think I'm going to keep that opinion no matter how much I'm presented evidence of the contrary.

I gotta go. I'm tired. The haze has me in a weird mood and there's only one cure: cleaning the living room while I listen to a podcast!!!!

Until next time,
Margaret

P.S. Martha can now say "podcast." She is an intellectual.
P.P.S. She can also say "pancake." Sounds the same as "podcast."

Get a broom.

When you search for "broom" on the Ikea website, this is what you get:

So...looks like we have two options. 

1. A push broom that comes with a dustpan. 

2. And a witch's broom. 

Yeah. Obviously that's not going to work for me. I'm looking for a basic, plastic-bristled broom like the ones you'd see in, oh I don't know, EVERY KITCHEN IN AMERICA. 

Ikea, you're better than this. Get it together or I'm never going to impulse-buy pomegranate tealights from your stores again. 

To end things on a positive note, I reheated last night's spaghetti, took my bowl to the beach and shovelled it in as the sun melted into the Puget Sound. Living here is going to be amazing. I have that week-before-school-starts-again, new-outfit, new-lunchbox feeling. 

Love,
Margaret

P.S. The first item I bought for the apartment? A plunger. It was instantly necessary. 

Information for your Saturday

What emoji do you wish existed but doesn't?

A lot of people have expressed to me the need for a 'fingers crossed' emoji. I agree, and I can't believe it doesn't already exist.

Siiiiiiigh. It's one of those post-migraine, achy shoulder, listen to Miley, eat Goldfish crackers, think about going for a walk kind of nights. Despite a nap and some medicine, I'm not 100% myself. As my sisters tell their kiddos, "you know your body" and I indeed know that I'm not firing on all cylinders.

In lieu of a blog topic, I'm going to present a list of unrelated information.

• Andy's in Birmingham (pronounced Birming-um) stalking the English cricket team. His goal is to get a picture with Joe Root aka Rooty (pronounced Roo-teh). 

• I've been perusing retro glassware on Ebay. There's something about vintage drinking glasses that makes me so happy to be alive. 

• Episode 0 of Project Runway season 14 (I know, Tim Gunn must be 150 by now), 'The Road to the Runway', is now available to stream on Lifetime.com (for US viewers). It's the episode where they introduce you to all the designers. Looks like it's going to be a pretty great season. 

• I move into the new apartment next Wednesday. 

• My family has always used Comet to clean the bathtub. First, you shake the abrasive bleach powder out across the tub. You try to get it to stick to the sides, where the dirt ring is most prominent, but it always slides down. Next, you add a bit of water so that the powder turns to paste. Finally, you scour. Down on hands and knees with an industrial brush, you scrub until your knuckles scrape raw and the chemicals begin to eat away at your fingernails. Conclusion: this method sucks. Worst of all, years of Comet-use have taken the varnish off the tub, making it even more susceptible to dirt stains. It's 2015; there must be a better way!

Since I couldn't find a photo of Comet, here's the first England cricket team to tour Southern Australia. 1861

Image via Wikipedia Commons

Goodnight,
Margaret

Dyson dreamin'

Getting excited about vacuums is LAME. Yet we all do it. We can't help ourselves! It's in our nature.

OK, so maybe you don't look forward vacuuming—who does? It's a chore. But what about after you've just changed the filter? Huh? Yeah. Now we're talking.

And when a Dyson commercial comes on the telly—admit it—your ears perk up, your heart skips a beat and you gaze into that silverfox's eyes like he's yahweh incarnate.

It's OK to admit it. You get excited about vacuums. Because vacuums are exciting. We all feel that way. There's no reason to be ashamed.

Yesterday Anna was telling us how she vacuumed inside a heat vent for the first time. Ollie spilled milk down there, and when she lifted off the metal slats she was astounded by the amount of dust and cheerios that called the warm alcove home. As luck would have it, she had just purchased a brand new vacuum and boy was it in for one hell of an inauguration.

Image by Arpingstone via Wikimedia Commons

Reasons we can't help but get excited by vacuums and vacuuming:

• The physical representation of our dirt-infested lives. Actually being able to see the dust clumps piling up in the plastic canister...well, it's exhilarating. 

• Your system. Whether you go diagonally across the room or straight forward and straight back, you have a system. Vacuuming is the lawn-mowing of the indoors. You mustn't miss a spot, and it's prudent to overlap your previous line by a few inches just for good measure. You know this, and you enjoy adhering to it. 

• The suction. The suction alone is fascinating enough. This is particularly true for Shop-Vacs and vacuums with a hose extension. The dirt's there and then—SLURP—it's gone! What power. What majesty. 

• Winding the cord. Are you a criss-crosser? Or do you prefer a perfect O-shaped loop? Either way, winding the cord up and using that little plastic doodad to fasten the end onto an earlier bit is satisfying as FECK*.

Good morrow, 

Margaret

*Not swearing. Irish people say it's OK.