Subterranean dreamin'
It's time to complain about the weather.
It's hot. Sooooooo hot. I am lazy and useless and now I finally have an excuse. This is why I don't have the energy to do my laundry/dishes/school work/other miscellaneous chores.
We live in a house with many large south-facing windows, and we have no air-conditioning. My lovely plants are getting singed in the sun. The windows are a good thing for about 10 months of the cold Alberta year, but today, they are making me feel like Sam McGee, except that I don't WANT to stay in the fiery furnace.
Only moments ago, I felt nostalgic for the days when we lived in a cool, cool tiny-windowed basement apartment. The nostalgia passed quickly, when I thought about how the old lady upstairs used to come into my apartment each day and rummage through a drawer to find a clean dishcloth, or leave notes about how many lights were on or how I should clean things or how to load the washing machine. And how she lectured me oh-so-shrilly about how the door must be double-locked at all times in case of intruders. Yes, the nostalgia passed quickly.
It's good to remember these things, because husband and I are currently looking for a tiny basement apartment in which to eke out an impoverished existence for the remainder of our stay in Edmonton. If we come across one where older folks will need to do their daily laundry in my kitchen, I will not take it, no matter how windowless and cool it may be. It's important to learn from past experience.
It's hot. Sooooooo hot. I am lazy and useless and now I finally have an excuse. This is why I don't have the energy to do my laundry/dishes/school work/other miscellaneous chores.
We live in a house with many large south-facing windows, and we have no air-conditioning. My lovely plants are getting singed in the sun. The windows are a good thing for about 10 months of the cold Alberta year, but today, they are making me feel like Sam McGee, except that I don't WANT to stay in the fiery furnace.
Only moments ago, I felt nostalgic for the days when we lived in a cool, cool tiny-windowed basement apartment. The nostalgia passed quickly, when I thought about how the old lady upstairs used to come into my apartment each day and rummage through a drawer to find a clean dishcloth, or leave notes about how many lights were on or how I should clean things or how to load the washing machine. And how she lectured me oh-so-shrilly about how the door must be double-locked at all times in case of intruders. Yes, the nostalgia passed quickly.
It's good to remember these things, because husband and I are currently looking for a tiny basement apartment in which to eke out an impoverished existence for the remainder of our stay in Edmonton. If we come across one where older folks will need to do their daily laundry in my kitchen, I will not take it, no matter how windowless and cool it may be. It's important to learn from past experience.
posted by Jaimie @ 1:17 PM
2 Comments:
At 10:03 PM,
Anonymous said…
Recently, Kevin and I drove by the house where your windowless basement suite was, just for old time's sake. The exterior looks the same as it did when you lived there, except I think there may even be more lawn ornaments than before. No more little Dutch children, though.
At 9:32 PM,
Jaimie said…
Ah the Dutch children. Did I ever tell you how I broke one of them accidentally, and then quickly kidnapped it to the basement where it could be repaired? I was so scared of the wrath of the lady upstairs. I'm certain she knew about it, but she didn't say a word.
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