Quite the Halloween we had here.
The weather was perfect — neither too cold nor too warm, and the anticipated rain never appeared. As a consequence we served what I think was a record number of trick-or-treaters before lights out, around 9 p.m.
All manner of Burqueños rang our doorbell — young and old and in between, costumes ranging from casual to wildly elaborate, the mood celebratory throughout. Not at all the sort of mob one has to run from.
I choose to see it as an omen. A bunch of strangers sharing a moment, however briefly. See, it can be done. May the spirit endure.
We may yet get a puck in the gob from the gods, who seem intent on flogging us with a windy, watery cat-o’-nine-tails. It would be swell if they took a couple days off — like, through Election Day — but the trees are already dancing a jig so I’m not counting on it. Today may be another running opportunity, and perhaps tomorrow as well.
In any event, I need to get outside for a while. Sundays are when Herself does the serious housecleaning, and like Nature, I abhor a vacuum.
Ah the vacuum. Kind of like a chainsaw, weed blower or weed eater; it’s a wonderful machine if you’re using it but a horrid one if somebody else around you is using one. I like the vacuum though because I’m an in-house barefoot person and I like my floors food crumble and debris free. But I wonder, with your southwest style flooring, hath though not also accepted such use of the iRobotish middle of the night cleaner? Or have you concluded that waking up to broken and strewn about machine parts caused by one Miss Mia attack cat would not be preferred?
Have a nice run and remember not to trot back into the house with dirty shoes. Sleeping in a cold garage would not be pleasant.
“Abhor a vacuum.” Wrangle those words, partner! Chapeau!