I wasn’t. I shopped. Cooked some turkey. And laid out on the hammock. With Auggie. And some wine. I actually went antiquing today, and oddly, found very little. The Whitman Room is slated to open very soon…and I can’t seem to find the right pieces for it. I got a bed today. I still need everything else. Although I do have the perfect lamp. That needs to be checked off the list.
I know it sounds excessive to be talking about a life of buying antiques and drinking wine. But it’s hard! Seriously! Creating a concept for a room and then executing it are difficult things to do. If I wanted to do something pure Pottery Barn, or HGTV, it would be easier. Or if we were your granny’s B&B, the decor would be floral and dated. Another easy accomplishment. But that ain’t me. That ain’t Orchard House.
As I type this, a robot is cleaning my floor. That’s Orchard House. We’re pre-Cylon over here. Before they determined they could kill people. And mate with humans. Right now, they just clean my floors. I hope to find one that can shop soon. Perhaps a little bug-type robot that can send live-streaming video to me of things I need to buy, and then listen to my commands, and make the purchases…and load them into the truck. Ah, something to look forward to. The future holds so much hope.
But it’s not all lollipops and glitter over here. Tomorrow I have to create a landing for the llamas in their enclosure. The mud has gotten out of control…about a month ago. It’s our daily battle. Not ants. Not escaped chickens. It’s mud. Like chocolate pudding. The truck got stuck over night. The horse trailer is still there. Going the way of the dinosaurs. Slowly being sucked into the tar pits.
But we continue to fight to good fight. I’ll still shop, in the hopes of finding those marquee items. And I’ll still drink wine. (I’m only human after all!) The mud will continue to be my non-human arch-nemisis, and like the stalwart prairie pioneer I am, no problem is insurmountable.