I'm cocking my head to get an eyeful of surfaces in the house. You can't see dust if you look directly at and down to things. You have to step back, bend your knees a little, cock your head opposite your dominate side, squint, tip your head back and then shuffle a bit to find the light's angle to expose the dusty layer. It sounds like work, dusting is more work. But we're in a control group study at this point.
This weekend was dust-a-rama. Now we live and wait. Are these iWaves working like we think they are working? Or are we suffering the placebo affect? At seventy-two hours I normally find despondency after a good dust-a-rama. Futility sits on top of things. She brought friends. Fruitless, Ineffective, Vanity, and Pointless. They're having cocktails on my tables. Futility raises a glass, her girlfriends join her. She toasts. "HA! BAHAHAHAHAHA! BA AH HA! AHA aha!"
We're on the heel of seventy-two hours and I get the last laugh. The house smells clean. Glass topped desks still look like glass rather than frosted glass. My coughing is abated. Butters doesn't sneeze. And the little test I found to watch. The air vent that fed my office area grows just a hint of mold. Enough to let me know it is alive. I cleaned it for the test. Futility laughed into her glass. Until I laughed back. Seems mold gave up the ghost. The girls left the cocktail party.
Cali found a baby turtle in the garage. He wedged himself between the wall and a foldable saw. The turtle, not Cali. The last time a baby turtle found his way to me I named him Tortellini and kept him in a turtle tank until he was big enough, and the weather warm enough, to be released in the lake across the street.
This little guy, we shall name Robi, dug his way into the world in good weather. I released him into the creek when the sun was high, and birds done hunting. I crawled to the water's edge where the long grasses grew at the bottom. The tide was low, the grasses still floated but now a few inches offered purchase to a little guy in his first swim. I set him on those grasses and watched him suss out how to be a turtle. First rule of turtle; Get out of sight.
We've a new kite spider, or Spiny Back Orb Spider if you prefer. Not Dave. Dave is gone. This guy, unlike Dave, keeps his web under the lip of the roof off the deck itself. Out of our clumsy ways. Smart spider. While admiring Not Dave I noticed another Spiny Back Orb Spider. The size a pearl of barley. And yet he too, had red horns. Delicate drops of red paint to my brain. In his little brain he thinks he's a savage beast prepared to pounce. He created his own orbed web alongside Not Dave's. He used one of the anchor strands of Not Dave's. Smart teeny tiny micro spiny back orb spider. He had a bug mummy in his orb. To the dead bug mummy, teeny tiny was huge. To teeny tiny, Not Dave is huge. To Not Dave, we are clumsy.
Our flock of geese come and go at will now. Goslings grow into their necks and feet slower than ducks. Today the littles are getting their bearings and running ahead of four of the five hens. Not one gosling will pass the eldest hen in the lead. They all come to a screeching halt bumping into each other's butt fluffs rather than pass the lead hen. I think on Highway 19, and how a police car traveling at absolute speed limit can paralyze three lanes of traffic behind. All drivers are thinking the same thing; Does this guy have jurisdiction? Is this guy a traffic cop? That one guy is gonna pass him at his current speed. I'll wait to see if he gets pulled over.
Pretty much what those goslings are doing right now.
My ducks have taken to traveling and napping on the roof of the house belonging to the neighbor who demanded I stop feeding them or he would have them culled. He likes them you see, but there are just too many of them. "You can see them everywhere."
Obviously Morty heard that last bit. Well played, Morty. Well played.