Shakespeare’s birthday

After days of harsh, cold winds, this morning dawned so still. I rose a bit earlier than usual and caught the light that filled our field, casting shadows toward us. Early buds, barely visible yet, were highlighted against the opposite hill. I found it very appealing.

April 23rd, is the day widely claimed to be Shakespeare’s birthday, also, coincidentally, the day of his death. One of those facts I learned long ago and have never forgotten. The first person I ever really fell in love with was born on that day. He still sometimes visits me in my dreams.

None of which can really be of much interest!

For all the delight of rising early, there is a drawback.

When the light is “just so”, it doesn’t just make everything lovely and beautiful. It highlights the dust in my house!

Drat.

Not that I was unaware of it. But it’s easy to ignore what you don’t see.

Having put things off by terrorizing the wildlife, I decided I ought to feel invigorated and do something about the dust.

Not my favourite job. Cleaning.

It’s all so pointless, because whatever you clean immediately becomes dirty again. However…standards, you know…

So I dealt with the dust. More or less.

But while in the process, I saw other stuff.

Cat related. Fur and fluff and stuff.

Little shits.

Good job I love them.

Anyway, I got out the mop.

And then this happened:

Does anyone else have a retractable mop? You get this strange sinking sensation as you push.

The floor got cleaned. Sort of. I miss my cleaning lady. It’s her birthday too, apparently. Thinking of her reminded me of all those people out there stranded without work, through no fault of their own.

Personally, I feel it is our obligation to pay such people for the work they would be doing. In the scheme of things, it’s a small amount and under normal circumstances, it’s money you would be spending. So what if it’s me that gets to deal with the dust.

Please don’t think I say this to win kudos. I really believe it is the moral thing to do.

It was my firm intention to next employ the vacuum cleaner, but Grant had snaffled it for downstairs.

Which resulted in blown circuit breakers again.

And then there were interruptions.

Of the furry kind.

and the feathered kind…

Nothing exotic or unusual here, but Mr Towhee, for one, has only just returned from his Winter home and Mr Titmouse seldom agrees to be photographed.

At lunchtime, Grant and I were so involved in the outdoor comings and goings, we completely overlooked cat lunch. Eventually Sasha was sent to get us. She came up and nudged me quite deliberately and made her “aow – LUNCH!” noise, then plodded back to wait with the others.